


Letters to Miss Shoyo

by cymyguy



Category: Haikyuu!!, Jane Austen - Fandom
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anniversary, Birthday Fluff, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, First Kiss, First Time, Gender Roles, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Fanart, Love Letters, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Life, Mentions Of Infidelity, Misunderstandings, Pregnancy, Romance, courting, gender swap, mentions of domestic violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:45:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 118,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymyguy/pseuds/cymyguy
Summary: Carriages, balls, letters, and eventually, love. Inspired by the eternally lovely Jane Austen, and ananimaticthat made me feel like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner.





	1. Chapter 1

The Hinata family was more well-liked than well-respected. Not to say that they were not well-respected, only that they were very, very liked. And though the parents much preferred a quiet, retired life, their three girls were young, adored, and always invited. The Hinata family did not host, but they were always invited, and the daughters always obliged to attend.

There was Koushi, the eldest at 24, then Shoyo, three years her junior, and Tadashi, 19 and youngest. They had a brother too, four years older than Koushi and three years removed to a city which was not an easily travelable distance for either party. But their brother wrote dedicatedly to each of them, and though they all missed him in spirit, it was not so with his words nor his perfectly tempered advice.

Though the girls would be ashamed to admit to it, the easiest time to forget their brother, and even their house-bound parents, was when there was some large social engagement to attend to. And today happened to be the largest of large, in the countryside where they lived, 1.5 miles out of a village which could barely be called one. It was the evening of the annual ball, which was always held at Karasuno’s inn, the only inn for precisely one hundred miles (not counting the city, 22 miles away), and the only public building with space enough. The ball was always held at just the time of year when the fall started to wilt, but the chill of winter had not dared to breath into the air yet, so that the late afternoons were still uncomfortably hot. But the evenings were gloriously cool, and a wonderful time to hold a ball.

“The fall is almost over, heavens!”

Shoyo had tossed her head as she gestured, and her lady-in-waiting dropped the hair pick to the floor.

“Heavens indeed, Shoyo, sit still for poor Miss Watari,” said Koushi.

“I am sorry, dearest.”

Watari smiled at her crooked smile and waved away the apology.

“Is Tadashi done with dressing? We will get too far ahead of her,” Shoyo said.

“And her hair takes longest. There you are.”

Their sister took her seat by the third little mirror and chest of drawers.

“I am sorry, I only wanted to—”

“Do not bother to finish, I know it will be a lie,” Koushi cried. “You did try to cover them up again, didn’t you?”

Shoyo leaned forward. “Tadashi, we have been through this so many times before.”

Their sister’s face had been patted over with whitening powder, in a chilling attempt to cover the dark freckles under her eyes and swiped across her cheeks.

“But the two of you have such smooth complexions, easy to look at—”

“And the two of you,” said Shoyo, “Are of such good height, whereas I have no legs to speak of, and for Koushi the two of us have such nice hair that has not betrayed our youth. We have been through and past this all before, Tadashi, now let Miss Yaku clean you up and pull your hair back in that angelic way, and no man will forget your face!”

“Shoyo, we are not even at the door yet,” said Koushi. “We cannot have you this wild so soon. You really must check your tongue, not for your sisters’ sake, but for the mother and father who raised you.”

Shoyo sprang to her feet.

“How can I do any such thing when my dearest sisters give the sun a reason to rise?”

They returned her smile in the way they could.

“You are positively darling, Shoyo,” said Koushi.

“Darling, goodness. I am not fifteen and stepping out for my first curtsey to the passing soldiers, Koushi.”

“Well by all means lose each and every one of the manners you had at fifteen, but at least do not lose your curtsey.”

“Never! My advantage over you is that I appear to bow the lowest, and I have no doubt it will win me much approval.”

She left the room.

“Does she really mean to win a courtship that way?” said Tadashi.

“It will work to perfection, if she does not speak a word the whole evening.”

Shoyo’s manners were of a kind to concern parents, if her parents were not so easygoing as they happened to be. In spite of this, there was still the potential to cause herself pain, and her sisters pain on her behalf. It was lucky, then, that Shoyo was not an insensible girl. She was aware that her openness and unbridled eagerness attracted attention, and that it might also be reasonably read by men as favor. She could usually detect, with a little help from her sisters, when her attentions were thrown out too much, and when they were being too heartily received. To this time she had avoided any proposal; not that she was unlike any young person in hoping for such an excitement to occur, but she had never found anyone she liked quite enough to truly wish for it. Accordingly, she would cool her manners, and the effort at subdued politeness was so obvious that anyone could quickly understand her meaning by it.

 

The ball was to be exceptionally exciting (though this seemed to be the declaration by the girls every year). There were more than one or two new introductions to be made to their small circle, in fact several more than average, and all of them rather young, if the rumors were true. There was some word of an empty house in the very county, now to be taken up by some unmarried and unheard of man. There were others here to look at the countryside, considering purchase. The elder two sisters were in truth a bit more interested in the men, but of course they were not opposed to new friends in the sparse neighborhood, and knowing Tadashi’s lack of preference meant that they made the effort to be equally excited and take equally as many opportunities to get to know the women.

It so happened that young women were scarce in their part of the countryside, and consequently the Hinatas, along with their dear friend Kinoshita Hitoka, were a treasured set. Not only for their convenience, of course, but for their delightful manners and the genuine prettiness of all of them. It is not to be supposed that any of the girls were proud, but their cheeks glowed happy as they entered into a gathering where they could expect the earnestness of their manners to be returned.

As was custom, the girls first met the greetings of their little friend and her very good (nearly adopted by them) brother. Since Sir Kinoshita had become acquainted with one of the newcomers while in town at school, he would serve to make the introduction, and could not have been more pleased to do so for the four.

“I cannot wait to hear you all go on once you have met him,” he said. “On second thought, I rather think I will not be able to bear it. Do check yourselves until I am out of earshot.”

“I suppose that means he is handsome?” Tadashi whispered to the girls.

“Or he might mean amiable,” said Hitoka.

“You should know, Hitoka,” said Shoyo. “Hasn’t he told you about this fellow of his from town?”

“No, he was careful not to. I think he meant it to be a surprise.”

The man in question was already engaged in a conversation. Kinoshita stopped their party next to his, and they were forced to dawdle in their own talk until the other party had broken up and made room for more greetings. The girls were all pleasantly surprised to find themselves presented to a handsome man just their age. He had the perfect height, dark brown hair which was quite beautiful, and warm eyes in a mature but relaxed face. When he smiled, it looked like the easiest thing in the world.

“Sir Ennoshita, good evening, how do you do?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Kinoshita snuck a glance at the girls, knowing he would see them immediately, prettily charmed.

“You are perhaps even better than I,” said Ennoshita, “Having such a group of ladies to introduce.”

“To be sure. This is my sister, Hitoka.”

Ennoshita bowed to her, and Hitoka made her perfectly sweet and embarrassed curtsey in return.

“I have heard praises sung of your kind heart,” he said. His eyes laughed at her brother.

“And these are our dear neighbors, my more distant sisters, the Hinatas. This is Miss Hinata, her sister Miss Koushi, and Miss Tadashi.”

Their combined trio of curtseys had the man smiling so broadly he could hardly speak.

“How do you do?”

Shoyo had always been especially sensitive to injustice. If young men were being spoken about by their last name, she preferred the same treatment. This was why she also wore her hair short, not conforming to the trends of the day nor to her mother’s wishes. Anyhow, she was very particular about introductions, and adored Kinoshita because he always performed perfectly. She had even more faith in Koushi, who as the eldest always made the first few replies on behalf of all three of them.

“Very well, thank you,” said Koushi. “The ball will be lovely, as it is every year. We are pleased to meet you here.”

“And the same to you,” said Ennoshita, “Miss Koushi, Miss Tadashi, Miss Hinata—”

Shoyo’s eyes lit up.

“—and Miss Hitoka.”

Every introduction after his paled, and all the girls, Shoyo most, became fearful that they were showing as much in their demeanor. They were thankful for the light supper, where they sat with their familiar friends and could eye from a distance while pretending to enjoy the general splendor of the room. In the half hour of waiting for their stomachs to settle, the four girls kept company with a new girl of 18, and her parents, who wanted to know about the village and its principal families.

When the music had finally begun, the girls did not go immediately to the floor to show their want for partners, though this was their habit. Instead, with one mind, they went toward the area they had seen Sir Ennoshita conversing with Sir Narita, Kinoshita’s closest friend and promised husband of the future. But before they could get there, Shoyo found she and her younger sister cut off from the other two, and then addressed by the manager of the inn, Mr. Takinoue.

“My dears, would you be so kind as to allow for another introduction? You know you are a popular set,” he added for only the two to hear. “This is a close friend of Sir Ennoshita, that fellow that seems too delightful for his own good. I only met him at dinner, you see.”

Shoyo, immediately curious about any friend of that man’s, locked arms with her sister and stepped forward. Takinoue announced the fourth person as Sir Kageyama. Here was another handsome man, she had no hesitation in admitting more handsome than the first. His hair was darker, all his features sharper, more refined at their edges.

“Here are some of our fine local ladies, Miss Shoyo and Miss Tadashi.”

She would have been late to curtsey if she had not felt her sister’s arm shift in hers. They did it together.

“How do you do?” said Shoyo.

“Well. A pleasure to meet you.”

“My sister is Miss Tadashi, but I do go by Miss Hinata under most circumstances.”

She did not catch the narrowing of his eyes.

“Earlier we were introduced to Sir Ennoshita,” said Tadashi. “Is it true you are acquainted with him?”

“We have interned at the same firm for the last year,” said Kageyama.

Shoyo almost smiled then. He might have added some praise of his friend, or some detail of their relationship, or of how it had come about that they were both now in Karasuno, but he answered in only one sentence. She did not like him at all.

She had already turned away to look for Koushi and Hitoka, to check their luck, but the next moment she looked again at Kageyama, and observed him observing her. There was something very quick and judgmental in his eye; she supposed it was a product of his training as a lawyer. Or perhaps he had always possessed it, and it was what led him to pursue the law line. She needed only a moment’s observation of it to determine that he must be the definition of a lawyer in the bad sense, cold and calculating. If this was a lawyer, this was Sir Kageyama.

 

She was secretly, and shamefully, glad to find that her sister and friend had not reached Ennoshita either before a new party could sweep him up. Naturally, such a charming young man would be popular in their small society. The four of them split off in different ways then, gravitating toward their preferred conversation partners. Shoyo engaged Sir Narita in one of their age-old debates simply for the fun of it, and they carried on contentedly until they were approached by none other than the handsome brunette. She addressed him first, honest enough to allow for surprise in her tone.

“Sir Ennoshita, hello.”

He bowed, and she and Narita returned it.

“I find it easier, among people I am not intimate with, to approach small parties such as yours,” said Ennoshita. “I do not feel so disruptive, by taking the attention of only two or three.”

“As natural and sensible a feeling as there ever was,” said Shoyo.

“Now you will be taking the attention of only one,” said Narita, “For Miss Hinata has done with me for the night, unless she will oblige me by dancing. I promised your sister the first, that is why I must leave. I see her waiting in the wing.”

“I have not failed to accept a single one of your invitations, it is no longer even necessary to ask me. Of course we will dance.”

“Splendid. I go to your sister now. Do excuse me, Sir.”

She was left alone with her new acquaintance. For a moment she hardly knew what she would do.

“Do you enjoy dancing, Miss Hinata?”

“As much as I can allow myself to, when I dance three or four times a year.”

“That is a pity! If you did it more you would adore the pastime.”

“Yes, I think I would.”

For now, she adored the childishness of his smile.

“Did you leave all your acquaintances well, Sir?”

“Very well, thank you. Do correct me if I am giving offense, but what I understood is that your parents are not in the habit of socializing much beyond a small circle.”

“It is true, they are attached to our home, and to their daughters.”

“I cannot imagine their being anything less than attached.”

Her cheeks rosied. “Your praise is too generous. You have only just met us.”

“But I have heard about you for some time before tonight. Talk of Karasuno does not take long to become talk of the Hinatas.”

“For better or worse, I believe that is mostly the truth.”

He laughed. “You have no need to worry, I assure you. Did you leave your parents well?”

“Oh yes, very well. They are always so pleased to send us off, looking our best, and knowing we will come back happy and ready to talk of everything.”

He smiled (not that he had stopped) and nodded his head. She smiled back, but did not know what to say next.

“I am sorry—”

She looked up fast at his words.

“One of my party is signaling to me. I am wanted for another introduction. I have determined it proper, since the number of you is so small, that I should take the time to make myself agreeable to each and every one. But now I think this promise may have been rash, as it must make me appear rude in abandoning the conversation with those I have just been attempting to recommend myself to.”

“We understand, I am sure we all pardon you.”

He smiled. “Miss Hinata. I hope I will be able to say goodnight to you and your sisters. For now, ado.”

She curtseyed. But when he had gotten a reasonable distance away, she let out a huff that dropped her shoulders, and leaned back against the wall. She supposed she would dance now, and maybe talk again later. Her sisters were already dancing. As she turned her head absently, the sight of Kageyama standing next to and looking at her made her start. She turned quickly away. Then she froze when she heard a voice.

“Are you finding much enjoyment this evening?”

She turned her head, to be certain it was him who had spoken. She looked away again before his attempt to catch her eye.

“I am sufficiently amused,” she said.

“Is that all you require of such a gathering?”

She looked at him. “I suppose I reap what I can. I am here by invitation, so it is hardly my place to make up requirements for my being personally pleased.”

“I fancy that compared to the two of us standing here,” he said, “Others in the room are reaping much more.”

Her lips curled. “I fancy that is a fault on the part of one of us, but not the other.”

When she again met his eyes, his handsome brow was furrowed sharply at her.

“It is rather ill of you to make such a slight, having been introduced to me but ten minutes ago. I was told I would find in Miss Shoyo and her sisters very agreeable young women.”

“You were also told, but ten minutes ago, that I prefer to be addressed as Miss Hinata, _not_ as Miss Shoyo.”

“Surely you are not insensible to the impropriety of such a thing, especially of the pointed show you make of having it known. It reveals a stubborn preference for your own will which would never be displayed by a woman of truly good breeding.”

She all but gasped.

“And now that you have gone so far as to injure my very dear parents by your criticism of my upbringing,” said she, “You have fully and fairly represented yourself as all that I believed a lawyer would be if ever I met one: sullen, quarrelsome, and self-important. If others in your line of work are misrepresented by this, they have you to thank.”

She curtseyed, eyes spitting lightning at him, and walked off.

Lucky it was that of all her acquaintances, she met Hitoka first. They were the same age, and it gave a special endearment to the relationship on either side. The things that Shoyo was afraid to tell her sisters, she told her best friend.

“Hitoka, oh my dearest, it was dreadful! Just now I got myself into a quarrel with Sir Kageyama. I barely know the man!”

“What do you mean, Shoyo, of course you did not.”

She was holding to the redhead’s elbow and allowing herself to be led to a shadowed corner.

“I did, absolutely did quarrel with him, I do not even know what about.”

She told Miss Kinoshita most of what she had said.

“I only hope we were not overheard, if my parents should find out I would be so ashamed. Not more than my mother, though, that would be the most dreadful part. And my father would have another talk with me. You mustn’t tell them, Hitoka.”

She was in earnest, recognizing that she had allowed indignation to have its way with her where it was not appropriate, with a man she had spoken all of ten words to in her life. Her friend was sympathetic to her worry, but also to the man on the opposite side.

“I hope he does not think he did something to make you dislike him. Certainly we did not speak enough with him for that to happen.”

“Why, that is not really true, he said in few words very much that made me dislike him, when we talked alone. Did you notice how his eyes are blue, Hitoka? Very pretty, but they changed somehow as we spoke, I was almost frightened to make them angry at me.”

“It was not really an argument, so much as a misunderstanding,” said Hitoka. “I am sure he is not thinking much of it now, and will think even less of it when the evening is over.”

“I do not care what he thinks of, but I hope he will do me the kindness of avoiding another meeting between just us two. I think I would only say more to provoke him.”

The spat with Sir Kageyama had a souring effect on the ball. It was, however, counteracted by a few exceptional dances, all the familiar, agreeable townspeople, and a particularly pleasing goodbye attention paid to her party by Ennoshita. She wished she could put the incident completely from her mind, but as she could not manage it, she recounted the whole to her sisters on their way home, with a little exaggeration of her own innocence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is going to get lengthy, I'll attempt to summarize each chapter beforehand. The Hinatas have a second meeting with their new acquaintances.

It was only two weeks later that the fall feasting holiday brought most of Karasuno together again. Ordinarily there was no communal banquet, the ball being just got over with and its happenings as much excitement as most of the village could want for a season. But as of late there had been so much variation in their society that the Narita family decided to do their neighbors a kindness by capitalizing on it, and hosted a celebration of sorts. Ennoshita’s party had yet to end their stay in the country. Where that man was concerned, all the village had deemed the Hinatas and Miss Hitoka the most important people to involve. Miss Hitoka was so sweet as to deserve anyone, and for the Hinatas, who would have to split their fortune three ways, the decidedly straight Sir Ennoshita was an excellent candidate of interest. Though he had a very small inheritance, and no property, they were told he had received an exceptional placement in his line of work, and would have no trouble supporting a wife and whoever else might follow.

For their part, the parents had had enough of their daughters going away for evenings and leaving the dinner table painfully dull. They had also had enough talk of Ennoshita, so that even if in reality he were not a tenth so charming, the charming way their daughters spoke of him would have kept them convinced that all the girls said of him was true.

Being well acquainted with the Naritas, the four girls were among the earliest to arrive, and they waited a bit listlessly for the newcomers. They stood just inside the drawing room, and were the first he was obliged to greet.

“Hello, I am glad to see you all again.”

“How do you do?” said Koushi. Her sisters echoed her.

“Very well, thank you. And yourselves? It is not long at all, though it seems an age since we last spoke.”

“There is nothing new to report, I am afraid, from these two weeks.”

Shoyo’s eyes danced once over Sir Kageyama, who stood an awkward distance behind him. He moved forward at the mention of his name.

“This is my friend Kageyama. I am under the impression that you did meet at the ball?”

“Only the youngest Miss Hinatas, and Miss Hitoka,” Kageyama said.

“Excellent, to make one introduction out of four is better than none at all. Miss Koushi is the eldest.”

“The eldest of those here,” she said after her bow. “Our brother lives far off, where the work is best suited to him.”

“You have a brother, why, I had not heard,” said Ennoshita.

“He is as good a man as ever lived,” said Shoyo, “Except that he spoils us.”

“Well we all must be human.”

“And how does the night find you, Sir Kageyama?” said Koushi.

“Well.”

“We are pleased to see you again,” said Tadashi.

Hinata was all smiles and a quick but kind curtsey. She could not even pretend to change her countenance in the presence of Ennoshita.

The way they all settled in, it seemed the night would pass with nothing but talking with this particular set of people. But then Hitoka was obliged to go away with her brother and be introduced by their parents to someone or another. Koushi spotted her good friend Miss Kiyoko, who had been abroad and missed the ball, so it was necessary to be with her for part of the evening. Then Tadashi too was gone, and this time Shoyo did not even observe what it was that took her away. Ennoshita was talking of a couple he knew in town that were newly engaged.

“But if he allows his work to absorb so much of him,” she said, “Can the poor woman be content with her married life?”

“Others doubt it more than myself.” He glanced pointed at Kageyama. “She is a doting aunt, that is a hobby I am sure she will not give up after marrying. She enjoys book clubs, recitals, little things which will keep her occupied. That is what she seems to think, anyhow.”

“I forget that such things are available in town,” said Shoyo. “When one lives within walking distance of more than one other family, I imagine there is no lack of past times.”

“For myself, I forget that there are places where such things are not available. I have spent my whole life in town, you see. But Kageyama understands much better, having grown up in the country.”

“Is that so?”

Kageyama nodded.

“I am fond of villages,” said Shoyo. “But the way you speak of the city makes me think I would be fond of that too.”

“Do you or your sisters go to town often?”

“Not above once a year. My father did all his business in town, and now that he is retired does not wish to go back. Since we would go alone, and since we have no intimate acquaintances there, we would have to stay at an inn by ourselves. My parents hate the idea of it.”

“I suspect any parent would. But does the society of Karasuno offer sufficient opportunity for three—Pardon me, four such young ladies? If there existed any motivation to take one’s daughters to town, it would be in order to introduce them into circles which may produce worthwhile acquaintances, equal to them in age and interests.”

“You mean in the way of suitors.”

“Your mother is not of the matchmaking type?”

She laughed. “Not in the least. We have only had one true suitor between the four of us, and he was not my mother’s match. My elder sister was very attached to a young man who would come for the summers, to see his aunt in the village. She was 18 then. He was always so timid, had no gallantry to speak of, but he was handsome, and I do believe his regard for my sister was a deep one. Of course I may be mistaken. I had only just come out then, and it was all very exciting for her from my perspective.”

“I imagine so. But what happened to the fellow, where is he now?”

“He went to sea with the navy. My sister thinks it was the village talk turning too serious, that frightened him away. They were young, after all. But Koushi is determined that he will quit the navy and come back to her, when he has the courage.”

“Do you mean to say that she still has a fondness for him?”

“That is a question only Koushi may answer. She underwent a change from the encounter, and she has not yet returned to her old self. That is my reason for suspecting she may never get quite over him.”

“Does he ever write? Are they still in contact?”

“If they are, I do not know about it. It really was dreadful, the way he left. He came calling to the house, and everything was as it had always been, until they parted, and my sister invited him to come again, and he said he was afraid that he could not come again, for a long time. Then he took out his transcription to show her, but did not even wait for a word before he left on his horse. How he got onto the ship without his transcription, I do not know.”

“That really is dreadful, I think the most dreadful thing I have heard! Your sister was injured, then, she believed he had been paying attentions?”

“She was not as injured as I would have been. But she did cry a few nights, and would not go into the village for some time after, afraid of what people would say. Of course Tadashi and I were miserable. And my mother was affected too, she felt she had failed to protect her daughter, she hated to see Koushi come to harm. Why, this is a horrible conversation to be having at a celebration! You should not have let me go on so, sir. I have even chased your friend away.”

Sir Kageyama had indeed left them. Shoyo’s stomach twisted with a hot spasm, as she thought of the way she had been pointedly addressing Ennoshita. It bordered on utter rudeness. Why could she not behave herself around that man!

“Doubtless he thought it too private a topic. He is sensitive to such things,” said Ennoshita. “But it is evident that you love to talk about your sisters, I could never be so heartless as to stop you. And I assumed that as this is only our second meeting, your family must have an agreed-upon openness with this story.”

“We do,” she said, “But we never converse with anyone who does not already know it. That is the first time I have told the story.”

“You tell it rather too well,” he said with a smile. “On the way back, with no such company to distract me, I will be in pains over your sister.”

“Oh no, promise you will do no such thing. She has grown into such a strength now that she is even eager to see him again, that he may repent losing her regard.”

He laughed. “Surely your sister would not be so cruel. The loss itself must have sown deep seeds of remorse, your sister being as delightful as she is, and her family of the kind a man could do no wrong in connecting himself with. The navy would seem a dreadfully dull and lonely place, having known you all. I am afraid the city will seem that way, when I go back.”

“You are too generous,” was all she could say, coloring in earnest.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Shoyo. I have a duty to my friend, I should go and join him again. He is by all accounts a good and agreeable person, but he struggles to recommend himself.”

“It is a kind service you do your friend,” said Shoyo.

“His character deserves to be vouched for. And we attorneys are accustomed to vouching for others much more than for ourselves. I had better go at once. He does not know many here, or else it is only a second or third meeting, and those might be just as tentative as the first. Do excuse me. I hope such a parting will not prevent my having your company again this evening.”

“Certainly not.”

He bowed, she curtseyed, and it was a perfect parting, as she could bear no more of talking with someone so unaffectedly charming. She was pleased with the personal request for more of her company, and pleased with his empathy for her sister. She was even pleased with his friend, whose need relieved her at the right time.

 

She found her friend and two sisters soon after.

“You held him for all of fifteen minutes to yourself, Shoyo,” said Koushi, “Do not think people did not note it.”

“I have you to thank, for being a sufficiently interesting topic of discussion. If he looks at you differently, you can account for it by my telling him about Azumane.”

“Better he hear the whole truth from you than whatever bits and pieces the village has clung to in its memory. Now it is my turn to pass over information. I have discovered a few things.”

“Oh, have you,” she exclaimed. “What about?”

“A certain house of Furudate.”

“Is it true then that he is related?”

“True. Sir Kageyama is the heir to the property through his mother’s side.”

“Is it so…”

The three listeners were expressly interested in news about their sparse county.

“His sister and widowed mother stay in Aoba Johsai, northwest of town,” said Koushi. “It is the property they grew up on. Sir Kageyama takes up the house of his grandparents. It is on the near side of town to his work, and half the distance out. Apparently he also has a general fondness of the place. He made extended visits as a boy.”

“What?” cried Shoyo. “How did we never happen to see him, not once in our whole lives! What is 12 miles between country neighbors?”

“We saw little of the masters themselves,” said Koushi. “They were not intimate even with Father and Mother, and we were not out yet I am sure. There could never be a proper introduction between our party and his, Shoyo.”

“I do not mean proper introductions, I mean that we might have seen him as a boy riding a pony down the road, or taking a walk to a fishing spot. He must have had a dreadful discipline even then, hiding about the house with books.”

“We cannot make any such assumption about his doing or not doing. We only know him as he is now.”

“Yes, but we ought to have known him,” said Tadashi. “I agree with Shoyo that it is strange we did not.”

“It is strange! Everything is strange! Hitoka and I are the only ones who do not let strangeness surprise us,” said the eldest.

“Though, my brother might have known him,” said Hitoka. “Being about the same age. But he did not either.”

“But your brother already had a companion,” Koushi said. “Really that is not any stranger than the rest.”

“Very well, he is not strange,” said Shoyo. “But he is a number of other things that you will not talk me out of.”

“As if we would dream of attempting such a thing, Shoyo.”

 

They had a hearty dinner, and then much too soon it was time to part.

“It pains me to say this may be the last of our goodbyes,” said Ennoshita. “I cannot hope for another such engagement, our luck has already been too good. We will return to town in less than a week.”

They could not invite him to tea or to dinner, because such would be the place of their mother or father, and since they did not come out, they could not be prevailed upon to give such an invitation. The only hope for the girls was that Hitoka’s parents would do as much at their parting, and then invite the Hinatas to attend as well.

“I cannot hope much either, I suppose, in the idea of your coming to town this winter,” he said.

“We do not hope much of it ourselves,” said Koushi. “If this then will be the last of goodbyes, I thank you for your company, and for yours, Sir Kageyama, and bid both of you a good night and speedy travels.”

“You have been too generous with your time, though I thank you very much for it.”

“Thank you,” said Kageyama.

Shoyo, as next in birth, was next to bid ado. She curtseyed to Kageyama and made a little eye contact, then stepped to Ennoshita, repeated the motion, and said with a velvety smile:

“Goodnight, and goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Miss Hinata.”

Tadashi followed her with curtseys.

“Goodbye Sir Kageyama, Sir Ennoshita. I hope the winter is kind to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you, Miss Tadashi, and to you as well.”

All the girls smiled, and turned away.

 

A few days later, Shoyo and Koushi went on an errand to the village, and in addition to the usual greetings they were given and returned, they saw a familiar young lady exiting the home of her merchant father and heading into the back garden. Takeda Nano was a well-schooled girl whose mother had died of an illness when she was young. Her father was always anxious about her development, and even though she was quite meek and sensible for a girl of 16, he had not let her come out into society yet. She saw the girls and waved to them, so they took this opportunity to go and see how she was. She curtseyed to their greetings and waved them through the garden gate, into privacy behind the hedge.

“We are sorry that you missed the most excitement Karasuno has had to offer in years,” said Koushi.

“I missed the ball and the Naritas’ banquet, that is true, but with so many new people in town, my father has had exciting news at the store, and he tells me most of it.”

“Perhaps there is something we have not heard,” said Shoyo. “Know you anything of Sir Ennoshita?”

“He is talked of often.”

“Do you know whether he has any family in town? He told me that he spent his boyhood there.”

“His mother and father have a house in town, and make visits to his grandparents’ estate, is what I heard from my father.”

“Is there mention of any young women in town that he is particularly close to, or that have a particular design on him?” said Koushi.

“No young women have been mentioned. But my father attempts to shield me from such subjects, as he is afraid my fancy for them will develop too early.”

“But I am sure he does know young ladies there,” said Shoyo. “Some very fine ones, too, I guess, for he would attract nothing less.”

“What do you mean by that?” said her sister. “He may attract many who are not so fine just as he attracts any other. He is universally charming.”

“Oh, is he so?” said Nano. “I do not hear much of his person, only of the figures and habits.”

“He is quite a delight, you would hear as much from anyone in the county,” said Shoyo.

“Let us not be improper, Shoyo, if these are things her father would rather she not hear about. We will respect his wishes.”

“There is no harm in her knowing that kind and agreeable men exist. Goodness knows she will meet a majority who are only one of the two, and some who are far from either. And I said nothing of his appearance.”

“He has many fine young men for acquaintances, does he not?” said Koushi then.

“I think so, yes. Of one acquaintance, a Sir Kageyama—”

“Oh, we are familiar with him.”

Shoyo only nodded.

“Then you know how fortunate he is.”

“No indeed, that of all things did not come out,” said Shoyo.

“Well, he receives only a fourth of his late father’s fortune, as his mother has a fourth to live on, and his sister a whole half, to get her through life as necessary. But his father’s inheritance was quite large to begin with, so Sir Kageyama with only a fourth is rumored to incur ten thousand a year.”

“Ten thousand!” said Shoyo. “That is what our father receives, with his lifetime of investments now paying out. What wifeless, childless man needs ten thousand a year plus earnings?”

“Are you now thinking Kageyama is the more in need of a wife, Shoyo?” said her sister.

“I thought no such thing of either of them, they may do what they please.”

Koushi still laughed at her.

“If we are going to quarrel, we had best leave Nano to her drawing,” Shoyo said. “I sincerely hope we will see you soon at a ball, Nano. Dancing is like drawing with one’s whole body. I am certain you will like it.”

“I believe you. Thank you for your kind wish of me.”

“Do tell your father we stopped by the garden,” said Koushi.

“I bid your father and mother and your sister well,” said Nano. “Thank you for visiting with me, Miss Hinatas.”

“Goodbye dear.”

“What a good sort of girl she is,” said Shoyo. “Perhaps if she were out, she would be the one to catch his eye.”

The sisters linked arms and were off for home.

 

Hitoka and her brother arrived at the Hinata house for afternoon tea and a discussion of recent events. Their parents allowed the girls the use of the parlor and went out on one of their walks. Each party told the other what they had further discovered of Ennoshita, who had now returned to town and might be talked about freely. They were all chirping like perfectly happy birds, until that moment when the conversation necessarily turned to the certain friend of Ennoshita’s. Then the rest could not help but marvel at how quickly Shoyo’s spirit changed.

“I do not believe there is anyone who finds him genuinely agreeable,” said she. “Many people may overlook many things for ten thousand a year and a good appearance, but not one of them can argue in any way which stands that he is of an agreeable, likeable character.”

“Ennoshita would argue it,” said Kinoshita. “And he argues for a living.”

“It does Sir Kageyama no favors to be seen so often in company with him,” said Koushi. “The comparison sharpens yours and everyone’s disapproval.”

“I do not disapprove of him. I only meant I am not fond of him, as a matter of preference,” Shoyo said.

“Your preference has been heavily flavored by a first encounter which happened to go less than properly. In my opinion the fact disqualifies your determinedly negative appraisals.”

“How so, my dear sister? Is not one encounter as valuable as the next for judging a character?”

“But you do not weigh every encounter equally,” she said. “You allow the first to cloud your judgement of all the others.”

“I am afraid,” said Kinoshita, “That I must second your sister’s opinion.”

“Oh do join in with her in leveling my errors against me.”

“Sir Kageyama as I observe him is attentive to all the Miss Hinatas, and to Shoyo especially,” the young man said. “While you were conversing with Ennoshita at Narita’s, his friend was there also, listening in good faith.”

“He only stayed put because of his friend, his social crutch. And anyway he did not stay put, he removed himself just as I was in the middle of telling about Koushi’s lover. Does this prove him a man with an interest in hearing me speak?”

“In that instance, it may not have, I admit. But do you not recall when, a short time after dinner, it was you, your sister, and myself who made up the party, and Kageyama was willing to engage with the three of us and without his friend? You do not remember his contributions, because you were determined not to, but he spoke to us pleasantly enough. Can you deny it, Koushi?”

“He spoke like a well-bred boy grown into a well-trained man.”

“Yes, exactly. Your eyes were wandering, Shoyo, and so you missed the way he would often look at you, though you were not entering the conversation.”

“Are you determined not only to persuade me from disliking him, but to go so far as hint that I should especially like him, due to an apparent fondness on his side?” she said.

“I am determined to do nothing but use my sense. By all means hate him if you want to. But for myself, I see four obscenely good and pretty young ladies in this room, and no necessity for them to fight over one young man while there are other perfectly good young men to be had.”

The girls countered this with the jest they always used against him; Kinoshita had no right to say, as he was already a pledged man to Sir Narita, and not the good friend he ought to have been by engaging the affections of one of the Hinatas, making Hitoka their real sister, and pardoning himself from any blame if the two remaining girls should end up old maids.


	3. Chapter 3

She had determined that she was decidedly fond of Ennoshita. He seemed perfect in manners, in humility, and in humor, or anyhow, she had never met a man nearer to perfection. Yet, as fall was sharply cut off by winter at the end of the month, and days grew shorter and busier, talk of him and all the new parties dwindled away. Talk of anything interesting was at an end, it seemed. If there was any family of the sleeping countryside which could be depended upon to remedy such a plight, however, it was the Hinatas.

Shoyo received a wholly unexpected letter; this was nearly impossible, as she was always expecting letters. On the envelope, in quite nice handwriting, was “Miss Hinata Shoyo” and the address. She slit it open with more care than usual. There was only one page, less than half full. It began:

_Dear Miss Hinata,_

_I am in considerable pain of nervousness as I write this letter. We have not been acquainted long, and because of this I have very good reason to doubt the possibility of your feelings being equal to mine, which have come up so suddenly. I will explain the feelings without further delay. It is very rare that my interest be caught by femininity. In fact it has not happened even once before. Yet, I am sure that this stirring up of certain sentiments in me is directly in relation to your new presence among my acquaintances. I have not known to exist any person quite like you in spirit, and to be frank, you have captured my attention, and pulled from me as much endearment as I suspect I am capable of. For this reason, that I cannot otherwise explain it and do not otherwise think myself susceptible to it, I wished to make it known that I am an admirer of yours, and have a hope that my desire to see more of each other is not unwelcome to you._

_Sincerely_

He had left off a signature, which at first glance made her want to toss the letter across the room. But then she was intrigued beyond words and clutched the paper tighter, scanning over the handwriting again.

“Shoyo, what is it? Not bad news from some quarter,” said Koushi.

“It is a letter of—a letter of—Oh, I do not know what kind of letter it is, because he did not sign it!”

“Then how do you know it is from a man?”

“It is a letter of admiration,” she cried. “A letter of confession. Or that is what it seems to be, though I cannot make it out clearly, but it has made me so nervous and so pleased at once! You read it aloud, Koushi, I beg you, and tell me what you think.”

“If it is a letter of admiration, I will join the navy before I read it aloud.”

“But it is not written in that way, I can hardly explain.”

Tadashi snatched the letter without a word. Koushi came and read at her side. They stared at Shoyo, then at the letter.

“What do you think? Tell me what I ought to think, my sisters.”

“I think,” said Koushi, “That a rather reserved person has written you a letter of admiration.”

“Oh my, may I have it back? It is my first one.”

Shoyo held it under their eyes.

“Is it a hand you recognize? Does it look familiar?”

“I have never seen it.”

“Nor I,” said Tadashi.

“What am I to do? Mother!”

Koushi took hold of her arm.

“Do not go to Mother with it before we have even made it out. She will only be anxious at its lack of signature, and she will tell Father.”

“No, we cannot show it to Father, I should not have even shown it to you. It is addressed to me only. It is someone I have just met, he says we are new acquaintances. And he thinks that I am—that I have—”

“You have captured his attention, is what he said,” said Tadashi.

“Yes, and he is fond of me! He has an endearment for me, he wants to see more of me, he has an attachment to me! But we do not have new acquaintances, only those we met just last month, only those who came to Karasuno for the ball.”

Koushi had stood up just as she said this.

“And who out of those few young men showed the most attention to you, Shoyo?”

“Why, it must be Ennoshita, but he showed attention to everybody, he was delightful to you and Tadashi and Hitoka too.”

“But we are not the ones who received a letter,” said Tadashi.

“Then do you think it is his letter?”

“I do not see where else it could come from.”

“Koushi, what do you think, is this true?”

“I would not have guessed it his way to leave off a signature,” she said, “Nor do I think the style matches his person, but there is no other explanation. He liked you, that is the one thing I am certain of.”

“Oh, oh my sisters, you make me so happy! This letter makes me so happy! He is such an agreeable man, it would be so easy to be married to him!”

“Heaven and earth, Shoyo, do not let your feelings run away with you.”

“Mother! I must speak with our mother.”

She ran out the door, and they chased after her.

“This is such a good kind of letter,” she was saying. “One is not embarrassed to show such a letter to their family.”

“One such as you, that is,” said Tadashi.

Their mother was speaking with the cook. The girls waited at the kitchen door, all practically bubbling. Shoyo’s energy was always a contagion.

“Mother?”

“Yes Shoyo.”

Before she could speak again, her face broke into such a smile as made her sisters forget all their apprehensions, and made their mother smile even as she raised her brows.

She made a pleased enough reaction in her reserved way, and for either of the others it would have sufficed to leave the matter there, but Shoyo would insist on going to Hinata Keishin in his study.

“Father, this is a letter to me that I would like you to read,” she said.

“Why on earth would I do such a thing, Shoyo.”

“Why, because I just asked you to!”

Her sisters rolled their eyes.

“What business is it of mine to see the contents of your letters?”

“This is a letter that concerns all of my family, and I would like very much for you to know what is in it.”

“I must say that I do not like the smiles you are all wearing.”

This served to broaden the smiles. Her father took the letter, reading more and more carefully as he went on.

“Oh my.”

“Do you see why I smile, Father?”

“You have an admirer. A secret admirer, the worst kind of all.”

“How can you say such a thing?”

Her sisters cried out in a similar manner.

“Surely you are still the sensible girls I have always thought you to be. You cannot expect me to rejoice much in an admirer of my daughter when the last proved to be nothing more than a curse of despondency on this house.”

Koushi laughed, and Shoyo waved the reminder away.

“Do you not think it a good kind of letter, Father?”

“I think it very business-like. Whether that is a good kind, I cannot guess, as it has been many years since I attempted any such letter. Who is its writer, Shoyo? I presume that he expected you to know, since he left off without a signature.”

“Well, in truth I am not absolutely certain, but if it is a new acquaintance who admires me, it can only be Sir Ennoshita.”

“There are not ladies enough in town? What merits his coming to steal one of our fairest?”

“No matter what you say, you will not stop me from appreciating his letter,” said Shoyo, and she hurried out with it.

 

Though her sisters’ tentative confirmation of the author had Shoyo thoroughly convinced, the rest of the family was less ready to accept that a letter with a dishonest signature did not contain any other dishonesties. But they did not need to interfere with any idea she had of writing back; the contents of the letter had touched her vanity, but had not done enough to assure her that she need return any real feelings. There was a depth lacking in the letter, and more of Ennoshita or his words must come in order to prove these worthy.

And so they did come, five nearly insufferable days after.

_Dear Miss Hinata,_

_Since my last letter I have found myself often in thought of you. Though I would never entertain fancies or allow myself forward imagination, I have consented to concluding that you are, among all young ladies, a pleasure to look upon. Quickness of mind lends itself to the enhancement of your other good qualities, and though I readily confess that I am no reader of hearts, it seems yours has a great depth and height which in turn colors your being in a pretty way. Whenever the Hinatas are mentioned in conversation, I am sure to think of you first, though I most certainly do not mean this as a slight to the rest of your family, as genuinely esteemed and well-mannered as they all are._

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. I doubt that it finds you in anything less than good humor._

_Sincerely_

After the barrage of her initial gasps and sighs, Shoyo said:

“He is so direct, yet not direct at all!”

“He says everything and nothing,” said Tadashi.

“Yes, precisely. His letters seem so different than the way he speaks in person.”

“He is a lawyer, probably he is used to writing letters of business and not of sentiment.”

“You are right, Tadashi.”

Koushi had left before the post could arrive, preferring a walk to the unbearable anxiety that radiated from her sister in the hour before the carriage would come. She returned now, and hearing the raptures, came up the stairs.

“What, another letter?”

“Yes, please do read it!”

She did, smiling.

“Ah, Shoyo, I am so happy for you to get such a letter. My sweet sister, you deserve it.”

She could not answer; she had read the letter for the third time at Koushi’s shoulder, and her head felt light as the words wove their way before her eyes, over and over: _in a pretty way_.

“We were talking of his very unaffected style,” said Tadashi. “What do you think of it?”

“I fully approve of his style,” Koushi said. “It is easy to read. Not at all melodramatic.”

“Yes, very true, I like it this way,” said Shoyo. “He is good with words. Though…”

“Though he is not openhearted enough for you, Shoyo,” said the eldest. “That is what it lacks, why you do not feel yourself being moved.”

“But I do feel moved, I feel so very happy to have this letter. But it is odd, I thought him so open when we spoke in person. Is it not so?”

“It is indeed.”

“And why does he not sign it? Why would there be any necessity for secrecy? Why would he write at all if he did not want me to know who he was?”

“A letter we hoped would bring answers, brings more questions,” said Tadashi.

“What shall we do? Must we wait again for another letter?”

It was a dreadful prospect, but really there was nothing else to be done.

 

Hitoka, of course, had heard the news of the first letter about an hour after its arrival. Once she had told her brother, it was told to Sir Narita, and once to Mr. and Mrs. Narita, then the whole village. Miss Hinata was receiving letters of admiration from town. With all the same information as the family had, Karasuno could only assume the same of the writer’s identity. It was Sir Ennoshita who had taken a fancy to their beloved Shoyo.

A third letter arrived four days later.

“One day less than last!”

She asked Tadashi to open the envelope for her. She smoothed the letter on the writing desk, and the sisters crowded beside her to read for themselves.

_Dear Miss Hinata,_

_I had the recent pleasure of spotting you in the village with one sister and that intimate friend of yours,_

“What? How can that be, how on earth can that be! How and when did he see me, I did not see him, not for one moment, and why did he not say anything if he did see me? What is the meaning in it, Koushi, why would he act so?”

“Why do you ask me when you have his explanation there in your hand?”

“With one sister and my friend, that must have been on Tuesday when I was with Hitoka and yourself, Tadashi.”

“Oh do finish the letter,” cried the youngest.

_I had the recent pleasure of spotting you in the village with one sister and that intimate friend of yours, and was struck by your petite figure. Forgive me for choosing not to approach and address your party; my admission would have been a flaw in the scene, and other witnesses may rightly have called for my removal. It was something of a shock to see you with no forewarning. Your image often forces itself among my other thoughts and had done so moments before you appeared. Here I may become too bold. Do disregard me if it is so. Your own mind and body are so constantly active, and you smile so often, that I do not find it unreasonable to hope in the odds that one thought and one smile out of them all may be in response to what I wrote. Rest assured, I do not fancy that my attentions demand much of your time or interest, having written only twice and not at great length. I am in no habit of expressing such sentiments, as little habit as I am of feeling them._

_Sincerely_

She leapt from the desk and hopped about, holding squeals and grins behind her hand.

“Petite, he said!”

They rolled their eyes.

“Now he has her heart,” said the eldest. “And in a line where he had little expectation of gaining it, I daresay.”

“Petite, that is the way to speak of a lady.”

“That is only a pointedly polite way of saying small or short,” Tadashi said with gentle pleading.

“Then you should commend his good manners.”

As they watched her spring about the room, they softened into smiles. For Koushi it was especially sweet to witness the purity of a girl’s very first attachment, which she could no longer feel herself, and which for herself, had amounted to nothing in the end. She vowed that her sister would be more fortunate.

“But I did not hear of his being in the village.” Suddenly Shoyo was peeved beyond reason. “I had thought his party was in town to stay, for the winter. He did not say he would come again. Did you hear anything of his coming again?”

“Of course not.”

“ _Forgive me for choosing not to approach and address your party_ , that part is very bad,” she said. “How can I forgive such a trick? But I begin to understand his way of writing. I can tell in it that he truly does like me. _One smile out of them all_ , really sir, as if your letters are not the only thing I have smiled about in these two weeks.”

“To be sure, that part is very well done,” said Koushi. “It is rather a perfect description of you too, from someone who has not known you long at all.”

“I wonder if he is still in Karasuno? But no—” She picked up the envelope. “It is marked from the city again, he must have written it there.”

“But surely if he is continuing to write, he must have some future desire of coming out to see you. He would not come and go so secretively again, would he?”

“If he does I shall never forgive him!”

“Until he sends you another letter,” said the youngest. “You cannot even entertain the idea of seriously resenting him when you have one in your hand.”

“Be that as it may, _I_ will not stand for such a thing to be repeated,” said Koushi. “But it is ever so odd, that Sir Ennoshita would be a gentleman of the kind to come into a place where he has friendly acquaintances, let alone to see them across the street, and not approach to pay at least the due attentions, regardless of any letters.”

“We have not seen him embarrassed,” said Tadashi. “Could it be that he will not approach Shoyo or anyone that is likely to have seen the letters? He is certainly not without modesty. Having no reply from her, can we expect him or any young man to be so unabashed?”

“It is his own fault that he has no reply,” said Koushi.

“He will have a reply,” Shoyo cried, “Whether or not it is what he wants. I am determined this time.”

“As you should be. There has been enough wooing, now is the time for action.”

“What Koushi,” said the youngest, “You are to be our compass, and this is how easily you are disarmed?”

“We do not know his address, but might we somehow find out the address of the firm where he works?” said Shoyo.

“I will not sleep until I have it.”

“And I will write a reply which will win him back to the village!”

Koushi left the room. Tadashi shook her head, knowing they could not be stopped now.

 

It did not take Koushi half as long as expected to return, and even so, Shoyo had already written several frantic drafts of her reply. Tadashi had tried to help, but was not confident enough in her own advice to sway her strong-willed sister.

“Koushi, we must have your opinion, or this letter will be a disaster.”

“I tried my best,” said Tadashi. “But two helpers will only hinder, so I am going down. Shoyo, may I read it before you send it?”

“Of course.”

The youngest left them to their devices.

Even with all her elder’s soothing and rationale, and her constant warning that Shoyo should above all else avoid giving her momentary excitement its head in this letter, the writer still managed to slip in a few of the lines she was dying to have him see. Koushi read it over once more, then gave it to Tadashi, and afterwards the two agreed that it could not be bettered by any addition or deletion, for Shoyo’s sense was in some lines, and her spirit in the others.

_Dear Sir,_

_I am lost as to how you managed to see me in the village and I not see you, as since your first letter I am always looking for some sign of you. Furthermore, I do not deem your excuse for not speaking to me then as sufficient; prettiness of the scene should have been sacrificed for the sake of open communication. Yet I cannot pretend I am not excessively fond of letters, nor that yours have not brought a great deal of joy to me. A letter of any kind from someone so steadily good-humored, and so patient in manner and speech, cannot fail where it aims to please. My sisters cannot but smile to see me in such a state as I have been. Yet it would be far better both for my felicity and for the modesty you have expressed concerning my regard, that we come together in society to lay claim to such feelings as may exist on either side, and if they appear equal and in every way honorable, pay the due attentions. I thank you for your letters, but must hope to receive no more of them, though the warmth and fluttering in me was rather a wonderful feeling._

_Sincerely,_

_Miss Hinata Shoyo_

“You ought to have Father address the envelope,” said Koushi, “So that it will appear business-like and not bring any pains to him at his place of work.”

“If he has no scruples with regard to sending me a letter, I should be allowed to have none in sending one to him,” was her reply. “And if he is ashamed of such a plain thing as that, I want nothing to do with him anyway.”

“But his not providing a return address must be some indication that he has reserves about receiving mail from you,” said Tadashi.

“Why on earth should that be the case, if his admiration for me is genuine?”

She shook her head. “It is rather too soon for you to be so difficult.”

 

It was quite possibly the most disinterested letter she had ever written. She could never have guessed how much alarm, anxiety, and abject pain it bestowed upon its recipient, nor the distant, but distinct, pleasure that banished away nearly all of the formers, as if by magic.


	4. Chapter 4

Hitoka came for a visit, that her friend might proudly show her latest letter.

_Dear Miss Hinata,_

_Even yet I cannot make out whether I desired a reply to my letters, as I have felt so many things since receiving yours. You have a decidedly pretty hand. As to your request that we meet openly, I will not argue against its being in the end best for both sides. However, I am currently in town for an indefinite amount of time which is dependent on the courts. I apologize for any inconvenience this causes._

Hitoka paused in her reading.

“Oh dear, but he does not seem eager to come and see you, does he? Why does he make excuse, already having deceived you once?”

“Do not dwell on it, my dear, for I am sure to convince him within the week,” said Shoyo.

_The second half of this letter has been rewritten perhaps five times. I am a man thoroughly trained in use of words, but they fail me as they never have before when I endeavor to write to you. The Miss Hinata I wish to describe is curiously sure of herself, considering how modest also, how affected by the mention of even her most obvious qualities or advantages. It is nearly too painful to watch her dote on those close to her, by which I mean it calls to mind the affections between parents and small children, or of dear friends meeting after a long separation. By now it has become obvious to me that I cannot help but digress in my attempt to explain. Perhaps my attempt is useless to anyone but myself, but at the very least I can attest that digression always leads me back to the thought of Miss Hinata, and a clearer thought it often proves to be._

_Sincerely_

By the time she finished, the recipient had a touch of color in her face.

“Does not the second half make up for the first?” she said.

“Oh to be sure, a hundred times over! Why, this is the most lovely thing I have ever read that was not written by you or one of your sisters. He has hardly been in company with you, how is it that he understands you so well?”

She giggled. “That is a point of some concern to me.”

“And such honesty. I think it one of his most becoming qualities. Are you terrifically happy, Shoyo?”

“I am both happier and more confused each time I read it.”

“Do you think he may be falling in love with you?”

“Heavens, I do not know.”

“Do you think you would be able to fall in love with him?”

“I do not know of a single person who would not be able to, unless they had never felt a measure of affection for anyone in their whole life.”

“He is a very good kind of man,” said Hitoka. “And it is you that he admires so.”

“Yes. At times it is rather more distressing than pleasing.”

“Do not be distressed. You are most worthy of every attention he will pay you.”

“How can he call me the one who dotes?” she cried. “I am being doted on all the time, by you and he and everyone!”

 

She went to her room to write the reply to his fourth letter by herself, now sure of her ability to be reasonable but not too reserved, earnest but not too eager.

_Dear Sir,_

_You were very kind in your last letter, excepting the first half of it. The last time that I believed you to be in town indefinitely, you were in actuality contriving to be in my very own village and to spot me as I passed. Therefore I do not lose hope in the idea of seeing you soon at Karasuno, and Karasuno does not lose hope in the return of one of its most handsome visitors to date. However, I do encourage you to bring me another letter when you should come; I find the contrast between your styles of writing and speech intriguing, and in a strange way endearing. I hope I am not the last to hear of your arrival, for no other can look forward to it more than I._

_Sincerely,_

_Miss Hinata Shoyo_

Once finished, she thought it such a good letter that she wished to go to the village and send it immediately. Tadashi kindly agreed to walk the forty minutes with her.

They delivered the letter, then stopped for a visit (and warming) with a friend of their mother’s. Entering back into the winter afternoon, they decided to take the longer path that circled one of the mercantiles, in order to see how magnificent the pines looked after such a thick frost. Just as they turned back into the village, Tadashi put her heel to a patch of ice. Shoyo dropped to her knees and put out her arms in time to catch her behind the back.

“Shoyo! My sister, you are really too quick.”

“Are you all right, dear?”

“It took the breath from me, that is all.”

Then her face changed, and Shoyo frowned and looked off where her eyes were. A tall man with dark hair was watching them from where he stood by the front of the mercantile. Now that they had seen him, it was necessary to come forward. As he approached, Shoyo recognized him, and her grip on her sister tightened.

“Sir Kageyama,” said Tadashi. “We did not expect to see you in Karasuno again so soon.”

“Neither did I expect to meet you. What brings you into the village?”

“Shoyo wished to send a letter,” said Tadashi.

“Is that so. Did you walk?”

“We need not answer that, Tadashi,” said her sister. “He means to disapprove of us.”

“I meant no such thing,” said the man. “It would be concerning, that is all.”

“We did walk,” said Shoyo then.

“The wind is rather strong.”

“We have our hoods, which I daresay is more than you have, and the wind blows from the north, we do not have to face it on either our way to or from.”

“I trust that you would be nothing less than honest in such a matter,” said Kageyama.

“Are you visiting your estate, sir?” said Tadashi.

“I am.”

Suddenly Shoyo was smiling.

“We were told that you spent time here in the country with your grandparents,” she said. “We never heard a word about you, but I wondered if you heard anything of the little Miss Hinatas, when you were younger.”

“I remember two or three instances of such ladies being mentioned.”

“Oh, that is very interesting,” said Tadashi.

“Indeed,” said her sister.

“The place can hardly stand not to mention you, I think,” he said.

Shoyo laughed.

“If it is an inconvenience to you, I do apologize on its behalf.”

“I suppose you must be going on,” said Tadashi.

“I did not intend to keep you.”

Tadashi curtseyed, and her sister copied her.

“Ado, sir.”

“Ado,” said Shoyo.

“Goodbye, Miss Hinatas.”

“Shoyo,” she murmured as they left the village. “Must every word you say assure us of your dislike? Mother might have scolded you for being uncivil, if she had heard.”

“Do not tell me it was so bad as that, I only jested! If he took it as a serious offense, is not the fault on his side, for misunderstanding? A lawyer ought to be very clever.”

“Shoyo, please,” she said. “I do not mean to be judge between you. I was only trying to tell you that if your dislike is so strong, it might be necessary to take more care as you speak.”

“Of course you are right Tadashi, and I did not mean to quarrel. Do forgive me.”

“It is quite all right.”

Shoyo slipped her arm into her sister’s; it drew a smile from her.

 

She received a letter just two days after she had delivered hers to the post. It began differently than the others, a small difference which made her charge into the rest of it.

_Dearest Miss Hinata,_

_I will be returning to Karasuno with a small party in 4 days. Thus, a reply to this letter is not necessary. Unfortunately, the trip will be a very short one, and I am not certain as to whether time will allow for a private meeting between us. I hope to see you, in any form or fashion that permits me. I do not know what I will say, but as it is my sincerest wish to avoid making a fool of myself or of you, that is the very thing I am most likely to do. I ask that you not forget my letters, nor the fact that whatever anxiety you feel for the meeting, mine is ten-fold._

_Sincerely_

She nearly ran the path to the Kinoshita house, and was still breathless when she reached the entry and encountered Sir Narita and his lover, instead of the footman.

“How do you do, Shoyo? I hope all is well with your family?”

She blinked to clear her eyes and look at them.

“Such smiling can only mean that she has gotten a letter,” said Kinoshita.

“I have indeed, and now I must ask you to help me concerning it.”

“Hitoka is upstairs. You must pardon me from the job of proofreader. I might think less of you, Shoyo, for having read your reply.”

“You would do no such thing, and anyhow that is not at all my necessity. Hitoka, there you are.”

She had appeared in the entry, firstly worried, but smiling a bit when she saw her friend’s energetic flush.

“He comes to Karasuno in four days, Hitoka. We must meet somewhere, at tea or at dinner, but I cannot invite him myself, it is on too short notice for my parents to consent to such a plan. I must go to your parents and beg them for a small dinner and an invitation to him. Are your mother and father at home? Do you think they would be so kind as to agree to such a scheme? Of course we will have the cooks and servants over, it would be ready in no time, with no trouble to your household at all. I only need to borrow your dining room and parlor for three hours.”

“You are very determined, I know,” said Sir Kinoshita, “But for all that, you forget that you are not alone in your schemes. Does not the whole village mean to have you matched to him? And would our household be an exclusion? By all means we should have a dinner, or several dinners. Likely my mother has already planned her courses.”

“Oh, do you mean that you really will help me?”

“We have heard more or less the sentiments of these letters,” said Narita, “And for my part, I say you hardly need any help at all.”

She spun on her heel and pulled Hitoka out the door with her.

“Now you are speaking only to get a blush from me, and I warn you that to come to me for help with your own pursuits will be in vain.”

She did blush, when she remembered a moment later that the two were already betrothed, already several steps ahead of her.

 

Those to be in attendance were the Hinatas, the Naritas, and Ennoshita’s party, which consisted of only himself and Sir Kageyama. The Kinoshitas would host. Shoyo could not have been more pleased with this assembly of people all hopeful for her happiness. She received one surprise rather more pleasant than anything else, on the day of the engagement; her parents would be going with them to the Kinoshita house. This made her feel quite sure of success, in spite of her nerves. That her parents would meet him meant that they trusted in her choices, and as it were, she was excessively fond of her parents and could never be ashamed to introduce them to anyone.

The full party would be made up of 14; she could not find words to express her disappointment when all but the one she waited for had arrived. The others moved about as if it were a regular dinner, leaving her to her devices, which for now consisted of nothing but sitting at the back of the kitchen in order that she might be the first to spot the carriage. It pulled past, and she went scurrying through the house toward the front door. A lady might ordinarily wait for the host to present him to her, but no thought of the kind crossed Shoyo’s mind.

When the footman opened the door, she was smiling, beaming, next to him. Ennoshita smiled back, and entered.

“Miss Shoyo—Pardon me, do pardon me. Miss Hinata, you look well, and exceptionally pleased. What great secret is the source of this pleasure? You cannot be smiling so on account of my arrival.”

“I cannot, you say?”

“You may, very well, but it makes me embarrassed, as I have not merited any such thing.”

She faltered, and in that instant Hitoka and her brother came into the entrance, and Ennoshita was distracted by more pleasantries. What could he mean by continued deception? Had he not nerve enough to give her any show at all of encouragement? For a moment she was angry enough to curse, but as she listened to his speeches to the others, it died away.

Someone else entered the hall. She turned and saw that it was Kageyama. Still mostly with her thoughts, she gave him an open greeting.

“Good evening, Sir Kageyama. I had no idea you were to be a guest.”

“Good evening.”

“Is it not the loveliest of winter nights? I would walk home in such quiet and crisp air, but my parents will not hear of it, they are sending for the carriage though it is less than a mile.”

“It is rather pleasant, I agree.”

She went into the parlor, and watched with pure delight as he was introduced to her parents by her sisters. When she looked back over her shoulder, Kageyama appeared to flee her eyes.

“Do pardon me,” he said, and moved past.

When she had his attention again (which did not take long, with the others making their greetings pointedly short), he addressed her with spirit.

“Miss Hinata, what have you been about, this season?”

“As of late,” she said, “I have been mostly occupied with letters.”

“A good occupation, if one has the fortune of receiving letters other than those of business, as is most often the case for myself.”

“Business letters indeed, that is what you are accustomed to.”

“Yes.”

“You say most often. Have there been any recent letters which did not fall under the business category?”

Her smile was so very playful that he paused, his own lips curling up slowly as he considered her.

“Why, not that I am aware. There is the occasional note from someone of my family. Miss Shoyo,” he cried, “Have you sent me a letter which by some great atrocity did not reach me?”

For a moment she did not know what to say.

“No…No, I sent no letter. I only wanted to see whether you might admit to some interesting affair or another.”

“The only affair of any interest lately is my visit to Karasuno, and this dinner in excellent society.”

“I see. That is not your fault, I am sure.”

Now they would sit down to dinner, and now she must have time with her thoughts. She slipped into the chair meant for Koushi, between her mother and sister. They did not question it, having all faith in her. Her mother did lean in once as she passed a dish.

“Charming, to be sure.”

Shoyo gave a distracted smile.

She could only conclude that he must be playing a game of sorts. And she was fond of games, so she could see no harm in engaging. After dinner they entered the parlor, and the little round table by the back window was left pointedly abandoned, until she sat down and pretended to look out at the sunset. In a delightfully short time he took the seat beside her. But there were two other chairs, and she could hardly keep the disapproval from her face when the one on her immediate left was taken by Sir Kageyama.

“This is a charming property,” said Ennoshita. “Will Sir Kinoshita be the heir to it?”

“That is still to be settled. Narita is heir to his property also, and has no siblings.”

“I see. I wish that Miss Hitoka might be nicely settled, of course, but I admit I would rather it be somewhere else. If the property were vacated, I would be rather interested in it.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes, it has been splendidly arranged. The walkway to the house is quite nicely done.”

“Oh I am very fond of that walkway, I rather think the pink stone colors it in a pretty way.”

“Yes, I rather think it does,” he said. “That was very well put, Miss Hinata.”

Already she regretted consenting to the game. He was so very good an actor, so cool in all his replies! These were masterful manners indeed, when one had to pretend to have them and they were still so easy.

“It would make a lovely picture to hang at one’s home in the city,” he said. “Do you do any drawing, Miss Hinata?”

“None at all, I am afraid. Tadashi is the only one of us who does a little. Of course Hitoka is quite good, but she prefers portraits. Her brother has the hand for landscapes.”

“Is Sir Kinoshita a rather good drawer?”

“Indeed, I have had the pleasure of receiving some of his exceptionally pretty creeks and rivers. But he has never attempted this estate, I suppose because it is too familiar to hold much charm. You might commission him for an attempt.”

“I might, indeed. Has he made any attempt at capturing the Hinata house? As it is seen from the road, it is ever so charming. Do you not agree, Kageyama?”

She had nearly forgotten he sat with them.

“Very understated,” said he. “Very charming.”

“I do not know that he has ever attempted it,” said Shoyo.

“Well surely Miss Hitoka has done portraits of all her lovely friends, at the very least,” said Ennoshita.

“She has cared to draw me more times than I have cared to sit for her.”

He laughed.

“She will do a portrait,” said Shoyo, “Then wait a few years, during which she improves, and then she will attempt it again. She is never satisfied with ours, to which I tell her that she knows us too well, and since in a drawing one can capture only a single spirit, when she looks at her drawings of us, she deems them lifeless, only because she is so familiar with the full array of our spirits.”

“What a pleasing closeness you young ladies share,” said Ennoshita. “I wonder if such a companionship may only be fostered in the country.”

“It seems to me people have better luck with closeness of all kinds here in the country.”

Kageyama’s chair creaked.

“You think so?” said the brunette. “Are you of the belief then that young people come to the country for the luck it will bring them, and not for the prospect of fine young ladies who may await their acquaintance?”

She returned his smile, as something inside her swelled.

“Where is the need for luck,” she said, “If one knows that such fine young ladies are awaiting him?”

“If that is your position, do tell me, Miss Hinata, how is he to know that any such young lady is waiting for him? Surely her acquaintances would not be so ill-mannered as to let such a private feeling slip out.”

“I imagine,” said she, “That he need only ask her.”

“Ask the lady herself? How is he to go about such a thing?”

“Perhaps he would put it in a letter. Or perhaps, she would.”

“Pardon me, Miss Hinata.”

She blinked hard and turned, barely allowing herself to believe that Sir Kageyama had addressed her.

“Yes.”

“The last time we spoke, when we came across one another in the village, I believe your sister had taken a fall. I am sorry that I did not ask how she was.”

“That is quite all right. She has no injuries.”

“Your sister had a fall? Which of your sisters does he speak of?” said Ennoshita.

“Tadashi and I were in the village. We were there posting a letter of mine,” she added.

“Miss Tadashi had stepped into a patch of ice,” said Kageyama, “But Miss Hinata was impressively quick to catch her.”

“My, it seems yours is a family marked out for interesting events.”

“Indeed,” she said. “You and the village are of the same opinion.”

“I rather think you should be giving more news of them, Kageyama,” said his friend. “As a much more frequent visitor, your chances of seeing them are decidedly higher, and it is your due to me as their mutual acquaintance to give a report now and then. I did not know you had met in the village, are there any other meetings I should have heard of before now?”

“Not that I recall,” he said.

She must have him out of earshot, she must! She wished at such a time that she had her elder sister’s brain. Her eyes instinctively searched for Koushi, and it so happened that her sister had turned discreetly at just that moment. Shoyo stared at her, until Koushi got up and crossed the room to the three of them.

“Forgive me, I must intrude but a moment on your party,” she said, “To inquire of Sir Kageyama whether he might join my team for the game we are about to play. It is to be some kind of charade, and Hitoka and I would do well to have a lawyer on our side. I permit you to keep one for yourself, Shoyo, but not two.”

“The Miss Hinatas will have to forgive me,” said Kageyama. “For my cleverness does not extend far in games such as the one you describe. Rather, Ennoshita would be the more useful in this circumstance.”

“What he means to say is that his cleverness would be too much in want for showing,” said his friend, “And he might begin to treat the parlor as a courtroom, which by all accounts we do not want. For myself, I am content to remain in conversation with your sister, though I thank you for the invitation, and welcome you in turn to join us, if you might.”

“I accept your invitation,” said Koushi, “Only allow me to pardon myself from the proceedings of the game.”

She crossed the room to speak to Tadashi. To Shoyo it was obvious by the lack of movement among the parents that there had never been any intention in _their_ minds of playing a game. To prevent his noticing, she engaged Ennoshita once more in conversation. When Koushi returned, she sat on the left of Kageyama.

“It has been a rather nice winter so far,” she said to him. “Did you have a pleasant trip out?”

“An uneventful one. There was nothing to make it pleasant or otherwise.”

“I must interrupt you.” Ennoshita had looked beyond Shoyo to his friend. “There is something about this trip that for my friend is decidedly unpleasant, or at the very least, disconcerting. I do not believe I have seen him more worried than he appeared to be in those hours it took to reach his estate. Perhaps you are willing to admit to the ladies what you would not to me?”

“There were a number of things on my mind, which might have made me appear restless at certain times when my guard was down,” said Kageyama. “But I do not lie to you, Miss Koushi. The trip was not unpleasant, for I wanted very much to come.”

“He has improved this evening,” said Ennoshita. “You company must pull him effectively enough from whatever thoughts have been haunting him.”

“We would always hope to be of such service to a friend, if they should need,” said Koushi.

“But funny that you, Sir Ennoshita,” said Shoyo, “Who have spent infinitely more time with the man, could not be equally effective in charming away his woes.”

“Your sister is only too funny, Miss Koushi,” said he. “Sir Kageyama happens to think me the least charming of any man who ever lived.”

“He thinks no such thing,” Shoyo cried.

“He only says as much to hear you protest,” said Kageyama.

“Why, that was purely ill-natured of you,” he said. “Miss Hinata is right that we have known much of each other. Have I not been an attentive companion, that now I do not deserve to be recommended to the finest young ladies of our mutual acquaintance?”

“It is rather that you have been too attentive.”

Koushi laughed, and Shoyo resented her for it, until her sister renewed her efforts to engage Kageyama.

“How do you like a new home in the country, sir?”

“It is quiet, almost more than one can bear when he has just been in town.”

“You must be neglecting your duties to a dreadful degree,” Shoyo said to the other man.

“You heard him say himself that he thinks me too attentive. I will bear no fault for his empty house,” said Ennoshita.

“Perhaps with a house so empty, he is more in need of recommending to the ladies than yourself.”

“If that were the case, he should rather be doing me a double service, in hopes that I would return the favor.”

“But perhaps he resents you as his rival,” said Koushi.

“I assure you, miss, where he comes from he has no rival, and that should be enough for his contentedness, without bothering about me.”

“From this you may see, Miss Hinatas, that it is he who bears the resentment,” said Kageyama.

“If Sir Kageyama garners so much attention in another place,” said Shoyo, “Surely he has no vanity to spare for a new one, and thus the place you are now is perfectly open to you, Sir Ennoshita.”

“Miss Koushi, you must put a stop to your sister.”

“I see no error in her logic, only that we do not know just how great a vanity Sir Kageyama has, and cannot know when it is satisfied.”

“I will tell you,” said Ennoshita, “That it is not great at all, bordering on condescension. There you are, my friend, I give you all the recommendation you have warranted this evening.”

“All I could expect of you, to be sure.”

Koushi’s aid had brought about an increase in Kageyama’s involvement, where decrease was wanted. Shoyo had never more hated such perfect manners, such attention to the conversation so that his friend could have equal share, and even appear a nearly agreeable person! How was she to win against such an opponent?

“Koushi?”

It was their mother calling.

“Yes my mother.”

“Do you have a minute to spare for Mrs. Narita? She wishes to hear the story of Miss Shimizu’s aunt, and I cannot remember all the details, nor are they half so charming when I tell them.”

“Of course ma’am.” She smiled to each of the young men. “I beg your pardon.”

Her eyes apologized to her sister as she left. Once again, she must count solely on herself.

“Miss Hinata, I have a request for you,” said Ennoshita.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Tell us about your mother and father. You have such a way of speaking about the people you know well.”

She felt herself flush.

“Yes, I suspect it is my doting which allows me to speak so.”

“That is probably a factor in it, I agree,” he laughed.

But his color had not changed. She cursed her vanity.

“My mother was once excessively shy. Now she is only a very good kind of quiet, that encourages one to speak. It is a wonderful thing to have in a mother.”

“Indeed.”

“But she was difficult to pursue, for it. My father is not one to proceed other than straightforwardly, but he resorted to a letter to tell her of his feelings. And the one letter was sufficient. In that way, oddly enough, she and I are alike.”

“You have the same heart,” said Ennoshita, “So sweetly tolerant of anyone who wishes to touch it.”

“Her reserve made necessary a very objective declaration of my father’s wishes. After she was certain of them, she allowed herself to be touched where she had guarded against it before. I am not guarded to begin with, so the letter in question might come much sooner into the acquaintance than it did for my mother, yet have the same effect on me.”

“Only this much talk of your mother, and I grow fond,” he said, “Knowing the ways she is like her daughter.”

Of course this pleased her, but after having given so much of herself away in her speech, it was hardly a sufficient reply. Perhaps he intended for it to take her full powers to finally receive him.

“Where letters are concerned,” she said, “I wish to put a question to you.”

“And what question is that?”

“If a young man were to receive a letter, a letter of the kind my father sent to my mother, but it was without any signature or indication of who the writer was, what would the young man do?”

“He would endeavor to find out the writer, I suppose,” he said. “Surely there never has been such a letter that came completely as a surprise.”

“Why, I am quite sure that there has.”

“Truly? I would think such a thing nearly impossible in civilized society, for who would send such a letter with no idea of whether it will be well-received? If it were love at first sight, would not something in her face or manner have betrayed her? And if there was a period of acquaintance between them, certainly something must give hint. Some people are clever, and some are artful, but no one could be the latter to such an extent that the young man would not have an immediate suspicion as to the writer of the letter. But you do not agree with me, Miss Hinata?”

“I will not say whether I agree, for I intended only to hear your answer. I already know what I would do.”

“If anyone has received an anonymous letter that came wholly unexpectedly, I would readily believe it was you. You are the only woman of my acquaintance whose modesty could extend so far. You, and perhaps your friend Miss Hitoka.”

“Oh, Hitoka’s modesty is much more developed than mine. She would not dare to believe such a surprise letter was real, and if it were unsigned, she would call it a very mean joke and forget what she had read. My modesty is weaker, or rather, my vanity is stronger. I could not forget any word of praise written to me. I could not believe such praise to be merely in mean spirited jest, for I believe every word I hear, until someone gives me very good reason not to.”

“By all means I hope no one has attempted to tamper with your feelings so. That would be intolerable. Tell me it is not so, Miss Hinata, tell me there is not such a person who would write, only to act as if he disregarded what he had written.”

“I cannot tell you it is not so, for I am still waiting to see whether it happens.”

“My dear! Why, I wish you well, I hope in earnest that you will be spared from all heartache.”

“Do you?”

He could not answer to this, only return her steady look.

“If it were your friend,” she said, “Sitting here with us, who caused me pain, would you rebuke him for it?”

Ennoshita looked at Kageyama, but Shoyo had eyes only for him.

“Why, certainly, if he was my friend I would rebuke him twice.”

“Would you stand to be rebuked?”

“Miss Hinata, I would not stand to do such a thing, the very idea would beg me to rebuke myself.”

“But rebuke of yourself would not count. Could you look me in the eye as I reprimanded you?”

“I have looked into your eyes, Miss Hinata, once is sufficient to deter me from bringing a single tear to them.”

She gave a smile anyone could melt for.

“Might I then ask, in the course of this evening has there been anything in my eyes which did not reassure you?”

Kageyama left his seat. Her shamelessness must have annoyed him. But it was really of no importance to her how she had ridden herself of him, only that she had indeed succeeded. She leaned in as much as she dared, let her eyes flicker at Ennoshita’s, and said:

“I beseech you, sir, now that we are alone, and before the circumstance should change again, if there is anything you wish to disclose to me, please do so.”

“Why, I do not know of anything I would say to you that the others need not hear. Do you mean to share something with me?”

She looked incredulous. He was alarmed by it, and quickly gathered all his abilities.

“Do forgive me, I attempt to understand you. Do you wish to speak privately?”

“Oh no, I have no wish,” she said.

“Did you believe I had something to reveal to you? I am sorry if my behavior indicated as much. I was only trying to match your liveliness, but it appears I am not so apt at it. I am sorry.”

“No, I did not believe any such thing. I only meant—I meant to…”

“Miss Shoyo, forgive me, are you feeling quite well this evening?”

Her lashes fluttered as she felt her defenses cracking.

“Yes…I am fine, of course.”

Just then she felt the eyes that she could never miss when they were on her. She looked up to see her father glancing. Her own eyes widened at him, and he got up and came around to the table.

“Sir, I feel I have neglected you,” said Mr. Hinata. “It is so easy to fall into conversation with familiar companions. I assure you my neglect was not intentional.”

“I felt no slight at all, I assure you, your daughter has been a perfectly satisfying companion.”

“I do not doubt it, but it is no excuse for my own behavior.”

Shoyo slipped away as he was speaking. She went into the drawing room.

It was not proper to cry in the next room over from a dinner party, but she could check herself no longer. She plopped into a chair, squeezing her handkerchief in her lap as tears ran down her cheeks. She did not sigh or sniffle. There was no noise here, until:

“Miss Hinata.”

Kageyama stayed across the room from her, but his voice was affected with deep gravity.

“May I be of any assistance—”

She leapt up and hid her face from him as she fled. In the entry, she nearly ran into Kinoshita.

“Shoyo. Are you all right?”

“Is there no peace to be had in this dreaded house?”

“My dear friend, what is the matter?”

“I must go. I must go at once. Tell my family I have gone home, but do not alarm them, I only wish to be alone for an hour before they come.”

“I will tell them. Take your carriage, and we will bring them later in ours.”

“Yes, thank you.”

But it proved difficult to give a sufficient excuse for Shoyo’s departure without giving one which would alarm her family. Ennoshita, bless his perfect manners, attested that he believed Miss Shoyo to be feeling a little out of sorts, which saved the rest of the party from worry over their city guests seeing the great rudeness of it. But the young man’s apparent cluelessness to anything else of the matter awakened her family’s anxiety, and Kinoshita managed to deter them only half an hour before Shoyo’s mother and younger sister followed her home.

They entered her room gingerly. She might either be too happy to be seen, or too distraught.

“Shoyo? It is only Mother and I.”

She rolled over on the bed, and their faces drained of color at the sight of hers.

“This is the most dreadful night of my life,” she choked. “I can speak of it only once, I must wait for Koushi to come.”

They stayed at her bedside until a second carriage was heard. Tadashi flew down to fetch the other sister. Shoyo was sitting up when they returned. From afar her family could only have observed so much; they saw many smiles in him, and her, but none that were telling. They appeared to be making good conversation, but no one knew what about. Now Shoyo told them a truth which could only make the piece in each of their hearts that belonged to her grow cold and fall away into their stomachs. He had more or less acted as if he intended to forget the whole thing.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a period of recovery for her tender heart, Shoyo brings it back into society. But it is fated to remain unwell.

It was a whole week before her friend Hitoka could come to see her, a whole week before she had the faith in herself not to cry on sight of Shoyo. When she did come, the first several times it was only to sit with her in the drawing room, too timid to say anything. Shoyo was horrifyingly quiet during these visits.

One week and five days after the night they had all agreed to forget, Hitoka came for such a visit. Her sisters were out of the house, because Shoyo insisted that they not act like sufferers when they were not, and because they could not bear to be around her when they could do nothing to console her. The family was in agreement that the feelings must run their course. When Hitoka was brought to her friend, the redhead seemed a little brighter in the eyes, and a little stronger in voice.

“Hitoka, dear, thank you for coming to see me. Is the weather very fine? It seems there is no wind.”

“None to speak of.”

She sat beside her on the sofa.

“Did your brother walk with you?”

“He did.”

“Speaking of brothers, I have a letter from mine. I suppose they wrote to tell him. I have not opened it yet, because I know it will make me miserable all over again.”

“Oh I suppose you must read it eventually, but I do not want you to if it will make you think of everything.”

“You are afraid to come to me when I am in such a state, so I would rather not either. But it is my due to my brother, no doubt he has tried his best to be encouraging. I know he would not chastise me, though that is what I deserve, and perhaps what would be most useful to mending my feelings.”

“Oh my dear Shoyo, the whole village knows you have earned no reproach. It was not your fault that you encountered a wicked man disguised as a charming one.”

Shoyo laughed. “Hitoka, how delightful to hear you of all people call him wicked! It makes me feel better.”

She flushed.

“Well, what else could he be called? At least you are not in danger of seeing him again, unless you should go to town. He will not be back to Karasuno, having been so exposed to all of us.”

“And there are so many people in town that the odds of seeing him would be next to nothing.”

“Yes, very true.”

They were quiet for a minute. Shoyo sighed.

“I wonder though that word of what he is never reached us,” she said. “My sisters and I cannot account for it. Surely someone here would have a mutual acquaintance who would know of his being a scoundrel.”

“Perhaps he had never done such a thing before.”

“Oh please do not say that. I like rather to think I am the latest in a long line of wounded hearts, not the first and only to be deceived by him.”

“You are not the only,” said Hitoka. “We all believed him to be among the most amiable people in the world. He deceived us all.”

“But he did not go so far as to write deceptive letters to us all!”

For a minute there was quiet.

“My brother heard a few days ago that he is not looking seriously for a wife, what with just starting out in his profession. But he did not make that known to anyone,” said Hitoka.

“I will never be fond of a handsome man again. They have too much power over other people. Looking so on the outside allows for one to be any which way on the inside and not be rebuked for it.”

“You do not mean that, do you Miss Shoyo? For your sisters and I always wanted a handsome man for you, being so fairytale pretty as you are. A handsome man would make for such a delightful portrait of felicity.”

“There is delightful and charming,” said Shoyo, “And there is honest and companionable, and though I used to want them all and nothing less, I would now take the latter two and never be ungrateful for all my life. Was that your brother we heard just now?”

“I believe so, he said he would come in and talk with your mother.”

“Shall we go down and see him? I would like a visit from a young man, perhaps he will be willing to admit to me what a fool I have been.”

“I have heard him say no such thing to anybody, nor would he ever say it to you.”

“I may still hope for a bit longer.”

They started down the stairs.

“There is one thing,” said Shoyo, “Which has since nearly the first day never failed to make me smile.”

“What is it?”

“That I once believed his friend to be the much worse of the two. Only think of it! In the course of one evening my angel and my demon were completely reversed. No wonder I have had no sense to speak of, these two weeks. Such a grand error takes time to recover from.”

 

She had not been in love, and therefore her heart was not broken, but it was bad enough to have such a blow done to so soaring a spirit. To the village it was reminiscent of how Koushi had been disregarded at the end of her pursuit. But Karasuno was not to receive any details this time, as those of the dinner party had reached a silent but strict agreement not to pain Shoyo by talking of her efforts and ultimate humiliation. The village only knew that Shoyo had been receiving attentions, and that she was not receiving them anymore, as apparent by the girl’s absence at teas and dinners, and the period she abstained from coming into Karasuno. Ennoshita was not the devil to them that he was to those who had made up the party, but he was a bad enough fellow that they bid him ill, for dashing Miss Shoyo’s hopes.

Shoyo felt all the mortification of having acted so flirtatiously with all those most dear to her in the room, only for it to end in failure and tears. She lamented her poor judgement, but she could not do this to a great extent, for even now she could not see how such perfect manners could mask such evil intent. He must have the bearings of a criminal. Her family constantly reassured her of her blamelessness; she had only meant to get out of him what an upstanding man would freely give, confirmation of the sentiments put forth in a letter of admiration. She had a mind to read the letters again, and did so in spite of her sisters’ protests. It proved to be as horrible an idea as they had warned, for reading them now in new light, the writer’s sentiments seemed shallow, barely there. Where they had thought the style was reserved and modest, it was now calloused, obviously put down with no real feeling behind it, and the words only just enough to be sufficient in touching her fancy. He had never said outright that she was handsome, or that her manners were pleasing, nor had he stated any specific intentions in accordance with his regard. Having missed all this beforehand, she could feel only the worse about her vanity and her powers of discernment.

Her two sisters, as the only ones who had shared her experience of uncertainty in the beginning, were the only ones who still held a doubt of its really being Ennoshita who had written and proceeded to destroy all the truth of the writing. But wishing her only to overcome the thing as fast as possible, they did not mention the possibility of some great error on the part of the interpreters.

The greatest blessing they could perceive in all this was that she had only met him twice before the letters. For they hardly doubted that an encounter with such easy manners, such sense, and such handsomeness would fail to impress Shoyo, and perhaps a fourth or even only a third meeting would have made her already smitten. As apparently Ennoshita was more intent on pleasing than she and would not be willing to check his charm, they were glad that their distance from town buffered her from more of his attacks. They did not fault her for liking such a man; if Ennoshita had only been what he appeared at first to be, none of them could have raised a single objection to her choosing happiness with him. But she had ended up decidedly unhappy, and each blamed themselves for a share of it, while Shoyo took responsibility for the whole.

 

She had tea once with the Kinoshitas and once with the Naritas; it was a full month before she could be convinced that none of their acquaintances would be so ill-mannered as to venture onto the subject. Finally she agreed, gingerly, to her first dinner invitation. The sisters had accepted none while she was recovering, not wishing her to feel obligated in any measure, so it was to be the return of all three of them to the public eye. They were eagerly awaited.

The tender winter had snapped just this week, and while they were still unused to it the cold was nasty indeed. The girls bundled tightly for the mere minutes in and then out of the carriage, and Kinoshita rushed them into the Naritas’ back drawing room, where all the coats and wraps were hung to toast by the fireside. As he brought the girls toward the parlor, Shoyo felt a little smile. She missed the excitement of engagements. She missed the company of people who only wished for her good. When Koushi turned and saw her smile, a lump hardened in her throat, and she had to scold it down.

“Shoyo,” she said, “There is something of a surprise awaiting you.”

“A surprise!” was all she had time to say.

They entered the parlor, which had a corner doorway, and the first person they encountered was the one seated in a chair next to the entrance, and who all but leapt up at the sight of them.

“Miss Hinatas. A pleasure to see you.”

“It is indeed, good evening Sir Kageyama.”

Shoyo was immediately flustered, immediately wishing she were at home. She should have foreseen this, Kageyama must be a regular acquaintance of theirs now, his property being in the county and himself being their age. How could she endure an evening with a man so closely linked to that other?

“I am pleased to keep your company once again,” Kageyama said. “Already I grow used to Karasuno’s regular set.”

“Oh yes, but in the winter a country set can hardly maintain regularity,” said Koushi.

Shoyo had not yet made up her mind to avoid him, when his eyes found hers, and demanded her focus.

“I hope the cold did not find its way with you,” he said. “Miss Hinata’s flush appears a bit more unnatural than usual. If I am not mistaken.”

“I am not quite warm yet,” she said.

Then she smiled, out of the blue and in such an earnest manner that there was no way to account for it, other than by being perfectly honest.

“But I will make quick work of it, I assure you,” she said. “Being in such lovely company will warm me to the very inside.”

“That sounds a very good kind of cure.”

She smiled, curtseyed, and passed him with her sisters. Koushi leaned to her.

“That was not the surprise we intended. When is Sir Kageyama a pointedly attentive guest? Most unusual—”

Her sister was cut off by an announcement from their right.

“Miss Hinata, you have allowed me to be upstaged in my attempt at first attentions. That will cost you a dear amount of pleasing remarks to me.”

Her eyes and lips were blown wide at the sight of him, a man she had not seen in months, who was notoriously poor at correspondence, and who now must be home on winter break from school. He was Sir Tanaka, intimate with the Hinatas all their lives.

“My dear sir!”

He had brought his usual companion, a Sir Nishinoya with something of an ill reputation, but whom Shoyo could not have been fonder of. She was a great favorite with them both, and it was altogether a splendid surprise.

With a good deal of food and a good deal of talk, Shoyo only wished she could have skipped her time of penance and been brought right to this evening. They were all doing their best to be delightful to her, but they need not have tried half so hard, as her love for her companions brought them near to perfection already. She laughed as she only ever did when Tanaka and Nishinoya endeavored to it. Both her sisters were constants at her side, and their smiles at her smiles made her all the brighter. She could even cast off her anxiety about Sir Kageyama, who seemed always to lurk behind her with no purpose.

In these three hours her opinion of the young man had softened to some extent, which she attributed to the fall from grace of his friend; he did quarrel with her in a rather uncouth manner, but at least he had not willfully deceived her, with no other intention than to cause hurt. And he was an important enough man, fortunate and educated and handsome enough, that she was ashamed of his having been witness to her speeches and smiles that night. It was the only one of her thoughts which strayed, and she set out to put it to rest, by being at least civil with him. When for a moment her sister took the lead in the conversation with Nishinoya (who often exasperated her to the point of a colorful speech), Shoyo turned on the sofa to Kageyama, who sat in a nearby chair and had just quieted in his discussion with Kinoshita.

“You are back in the country again, sir,” she said. “You must be really quite fond of your estate.”

“I am fond of the country, more so, but the property has always been a favorite.”

“Have you commissioned much work on the property, since taking it up?”

“Only on the grounds themselves.”

“I have seen the place only once, I think,” said Shoyo, “Four or five years ago. It was from the road, but I quite liked its appearance. Very grand, where it sits on its hill, but not unwelcoming, nor too gaudy.”

“Perhaps one day I will have the pleasure of presenting it to the Miss Hinatas.”

“Oh, that would be quite lovely. We like such schemes. And even if it cannot be carried out, it is enough that you put pretty thoughts in my head. I do thank you.”

“Miss Hinata,” he said, “I do not pretend to know the kind of man you take me for, but if I may be so bold, I will tell you that I am not in the habit of saying things which I do not absolutely mean.”

“That is evident, by your turning a conversation about properties into one of heartfelt confessions of principles.”

She smiled immediately afterwards, afraid that she might provoke him again, and hoping there was the softness in her face which she had meant to convey in her tone. Kageyama let his eyes go away.

“You are now most certainly warm,” he said.

 

The night passed off smoothly as could be, until the very minute of parting, when a nearly distraught coachman brought, instead of the Hinata’s carriage, news that one of their horses had not had a good trip of it. She was weak in the legs, and sweating unnaturally. The girls were much more alarmed for the poor animal than for getting home on time, even though they might find their parents had died of worry when they did finally arrive. All the Narita horses had been loaned out to take other guests home, but the Hinatas must be squeezed in somewhere.

“We have two places still in ours, surely the dainty three of you will fit safely.”

Koushi began to answer in some uncertainty, but just then Shoyo felt a presence beside her, that same one she had been feeling almost the entire evening. Sir Kageyama spoke from next to her.

“I will be going along the same road until I reach the village. Perhaps I could have Miss Hinata Shoyo carried by the chaise. It might be the more comfortable arrangement.”

She looked to her sisters. Though they had to regulate their expressions here in the open, Tadashi put her hand discreetly on Shoyo’s back. Shoyo did not allow the pause to be long enough for rudeness.

“I am willing to consent to such an arrangement, if Sir Kageyama is willing to follow through on his suggestion. It must be best for all.”

“It will be my pleasure,” the young man said. So it was settled.

Though there was an oddness in being alone with Kageyama, and in his offer to convey her specifically, Shoyo did not mind nearly as much as she might have. When they were seated across from one another she could make disinterested but pleasant enough remarks.

“Some consider the time of departure an evil, when one has been in such good society for an evening, but to me the good society makes the going away just as pleasant as the gathering itself. One has a convenient moment to reflect on all that was enjoyed.”

“Well said.”

“In the name of all goodness, sir, do not place upon me the burden of making lengthy expositions which are only to be replied to in two words before they must be begun again.”

“I did not intend to do so. I only need a moment to gather my thoughts.”

“Oh. Do take your time and gather. I am feeling patient.”

“That is a stroke of good fortune,” he said.

She looked curiously at him. His eyes were away to the side. Then he brought them up, and actually moved forward in his seat, placing his hands on his knees.

“Miss Hinata, my invitation for you to join me in my chaise was made with the intention of speaking privately with you on a matter of importance.”

Her shock at his serious attention made her unable to reply.

“There is something that must be said, that will not be delivered with the intention of causing pain but which will undoubtedly do so anyway. I apologize in advance.”

“What…could you possibly tell me?” she said.

“A truth that will at first be ugly to you, but that I dearly hope in time will be the opposite. The letters which appeared to you to come from my ever-charming friend were not written by him.  Rather it was I who sent them.”

Her face flickered.

“What?”

It was almost a laugh, which made him wince. He spoke again, in what must have been an attempt at gentleness of tone.

“The hand was not his hand, nor were the sentiments his sentiments. I wrote the letters addressed to a Dearest Miss Hinata, in the knowledge that anything which could be identified as coming from me would be at best scorned, and at worst laughed at. It was not my intention that the writings be linked with a living person of my acquaintance, but as it happened I was in no position to correct the assumption.”

She was beyond words, looking at him but not seeing.

“ _You_ wrote the letters. It is impossible…”

Then she eyed him hard for some sign of jest. He waited for her to say more, then suddenly seemed to become afraid of that very thing, and leaned forward again from his place of retraction.

“The matter went fast and far from my control, once I received your first reply and came to understand your error. I could not correct you without frightening you from further advances on the part of the writer, and I did not wish to place a barrier between my feelings and your reception of them, as the feelings had been touched further by your return letter. Every path left open to me was uncertain, and crooked.”

Her eyes had set in a way, and were bidding him to stop speaking. She said:

“You acted with utter deceit. In a matter involving heart and soul.”

“It is true, I do not deny it. But it must be a better feeling altogether to know that what was written in the letters does in fact manifest itself as a true opinion of a true person. I hoped it might ease your present suffering, your most painful of beliefs in its being all a great lie put forth only to damage you, always intended to do harm and not good. The authorship was the only deceit, for every word written of you was truth, as I saw it.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. His apprehension grew. She opened it again.

“That any person on earth who was a genuine human would allow such a deception to go on when it was always within their power to put a stop to it, I would never have believed it remotely possible. I—I cannot comprehend it. It displays the epitome of selfishness, cowardice! You would not only accept a reply which you knew was not meant for your reception, was never intended for your eye to see, but you would answer as if there were nothing at all amiss in it, then you would keep in hiding all the while that your friend, your very intimate acquaintance, was being set up for a great reckoning of his good opinion. And on the day of this reckoning and every moment following it, you stood back as he took all the censor from my family and had every blow done to his character, all in all making every effort to preserve your own reputation, though there is hardly a worthy thing to preserve and this behavior would rather be a perfect confirmation of what is already a generally held belief about you, as cold-hearted and disdaining as ever a man was.”

His anger had been kindled, and he interjected.

“All I have said to you was in attempt to make known that the letters were genuine. How may I be called cold-hearted when I take pains to explain what I hoped was sufficiently understood through my writing? You refuse to acknowledge my honest admiration, and pain me in your turn.”

Then he made a visible effort to check himself, and continued in a forcefully subdued manner.

“I understand, I know perfectly that you are in every way entitled to ill-will concerning my means. But there is a man who managed to put aside all reserve, all pride, all fear of rejection in order to tell you what a wonder you are in his eyes. Surely there is solace in the fact of my being here, prepared to wait for the moment you open to it, to return the esteem you expressed, the feelings which you invested in an admirer.”

“You speak in a phenomenal manner,” she cried, “A manner all but queer, when you dare to make the insinuation that what I wrote in reply to an unsigned letter can readily be applied in its essence to yourself. What an abominably self-absorbed person you must be to assume that my feelings would transfer so easily to you, after you yourself have been the means of torturing them to every depth for a month! The person who possesses such audacity, who could convince himself that such a transfer was probable enough that it justified the risk of his pride, must have a black soul indeed. You are a proper devil!”

The carriage had halted, but it did not prevent his raging reply.

“Every word from your mouth to this point is a bitter confirmation of the correctness of my assumption that your opinion of me was so low, despite the nonexistent history of our acquaintance, that any indication of my identity which made it into the letter would color the entire piece and kill its fair chance with you. How can I be blamed for my anonymity when your disgust with me was at a constant high, and when I was the only apparent recipient of any ill-humor from you at all, when with any other companion you were perfectly amiable and a constant pleasure to be seen and heard? How can I be blamed, when my true identity would give me no chance of succeeding, when my real name in one word would blot out every other that I had taken pains to write? You had already connected so much meaning with it, so much of every bad character trait, that when the attachment arose I had no other way of expressing it than to do so in utter secrecy.”

“And what has your behavior in all this done but justify my initial judgement of you?” said she. “Indeed, my disgust was nothing to what it should have been. To allow such a thing was despicable, and to have so much faith in your charm and so little in my standard of what is good and moral in this world, as to convince yourself that it might be remedied only by making yourself available as the object to which my affections could be forwarded—Curse that day which I received your first letter! Curse every day, and every letter! Heaven and earth, what woman who was not completely out of her senses would want a husband she must be forever ashamed of?”

She got out of the chaise.

“I do not bid you a good night, I bid you the opposite. I hope that you lie awake for hours and hours—No, I hope that fury at me will not allow you to lie, I hope that you pace until the dawn. And it will still be a soft penance for you, because your torment can never be equal to mine!”

She slammed the door and ran to the house.

 


	6. Chapter 6

For the first few days, she was despondent. She tried to see in what way she had been in the wrong. But she was not defenseless from herself; she liked Ennoshita and displayed her favoritism openly. There was no crime in that, nor even any impropriety. There was certainly no deceit. The only thing which her reason allowed her to take blame for was her initial judgement of Kageyama, which according to him was the cause of his secrecy in reaching out to her. Perhaps she had been a little quick to set her opinion, but that had always been her nature. To her way of thinking, only a great lack of confidence could convince someone after only two meetings that they had no chance of winning affections, but such a lack hardly made sense when considering a handsome man of wealth whose manners showed nothing but assurance bordering on self-importance.

To spare her any ridicule, the family had not been open with this new bit of information. Thus, her second round of suffering was done in quiet. There was a longer delay before she confided in Hitoka, and made her promise she would not tell even her brother. To the Hinatas’ own brother it was told in a letter by Koushi.

The eldest sister, and the rest of the family too, were lost for how to handle the situation. It was so odd in comparison to the one other disappointment of such a kind, when Sir Azumane had left her with an open heart. Her sister’s was such a complex proceeding that they did not know what to make of it. Once, when she had left the room with a sigh on her breath, their father declared:

“If I ever see the young man again, I will probably go out of my senses and challenge him to a duel of fists.”

 

The house was dreary, and Shoyo could not very well take shelter in it for another month. She went for walks out in the country, on their property or their neighbors’, sometimes with company, but sometimes alone, slipping out in her boots and cloak to toe along the frozen creek at the back of their house. On the sixth such day the weather was quite fine, with a sincerely warm sun sparkling off the heaps of snow. She had felt rather restless since she woke up, and decided a longer walk was in order. Her mother intended to go to the village for a tea engagement with Karasuno’s other principle mothers, something she did two times a year. It was decided that Shoyo would come along for the exercise, but that the ladies need not know she was in town, that she might avoid all their too-tender well wishes, and busy herself with whatever she chose while her mother visited.

For the two, such a walk had always been filled with talk by the middle daughter, with the occasional noise of acknowledgement from her mother. But today it was only the mother’s soft remarks on what news she expected her companions to share this afternoon which broke the silences. Shoyo nodded infrequently, listening more intently to the swish of their skirts and the crunching of snow.

“Oh, Shoyo, look how very storybook the Shimadas’ is, with its icicles all in a row. Does that not prove the potential loveliness of the season?”

“Oh yes.”

She hugged her mother’s arm as they stood and looked.

The village was blanketed in its seasonal quiet, with hardly a carriage to be seen, and no walkers at all. Shoyo gave a half-contented sigh and began to stroll at her leisure. She still chose the more sheltered paths, and was careful to stay far from the windows of the place her mother visited. For all her apparent protections, it was nothing short of horrifying to encounter the person her nerves were most ill-prepared to handle.

Kageyama turned the corner and entered her path, reading something as he walked. She herself had frozen at the sight of dark hair, and when he looked up and saw her he faltered. The papers nearly fell from his hand as he rushed to bring them back to his face. He sped up, aiming to pass her quickly. But Shoyo had already determined her strength could withstand this test. She set her feet and her eyes.

“Hello, sir.”

He stopped, so near to her that he was forced to step back. She had believed she could meet his gaze, but it lasted only a moment before she felt her lip quiver and looked down, pursing it.

“Hello.”

There was silence, as neither saw it possible to ask how the other had been.

“What brings you to the village?” she said.

“Business.”

“Not tea or dinner?”

“Neither.”

“It seems a long way to come, for only business.”

“I assume you have come on account of one of the two engagements you mentioned,” he said.

“Oh no, my mother is come for tea, but I am not—I was not invited.”

It was hard to speak to the ground beside him, torn between violation of manners and fear that the sight of him would blow right through the veil over her wound.

“Your mother’s acquaintances, and your mother herself, would leave you to the mercy of winter?”

“I prefer it this way. Although, I had rather hoped for a walk alone, in peace…”

“I never intended to disrupt your peace,” he said.

“No. You intended to be rude, to see but not acknowledge me.”

His voice dropped, but was more menacing for it.

“Do you not think my uncertainty of your desire to be acknowledged is well founded?”

“I know nothing of your uncertainty, but I do know—”

She tried to give her voice time to gather, but it would not. She spoke anyway, half choked and on the verge of cracking.

“You have been very unkind to me.”

By the time she was half way home, her eyes were dry and she had resolved to tell no one of the meeting. It would be only too easy to guess the cause of her renewed distress. Proving her weakness to herself had been bad enough.

 

Three days later she got a letter. It was postmarked in Karasuno, and came the mile and a half directly to her. It was passed from her father, to her mother, then to the sisters, who all knew the handwriting, and hoped in earnest that Shoyo would be in a resentful mood this morning, that it might never be opened. But she did open it, alone in her chilly upper room, motivated by a morbid curiosity. She opened it without the knowledge that their unfortunate meeting had inspired its creation; for Kageyama, after the initial anger subsided, felt a great deal of very heavy remorse. In this state he had met her, and in her parting statement learned that she was still broken up over the ordeal. This revelation had, for all intents and purposes, killed him.

_Dear Miss Hinata,_

_As you must readily believe, I have been accused of unkindness many times in my life, but I have not believed so fully and deeply in my guilt as I do where it concerns you. Know, then, that this letter is not a plea to you to appreciate the affection I have held for you. I would never do you the dishonor of not accepting absolutely your response to my confession of identity. This is to be a continuation of my confessions, which I fully expect to earn me the same reproach I received from you in person. You have the right to know of every dishonesty which has led to your current anguish. Whether you exercise this right is entirely your choice._

_I cannot know the depth of the pain you felt that evening at the Kinoshitas’. I only know that mine had brought me to ruin by the end, when I watched you enter my sanctuary to allow all your charms and graces to dissolve into what you were truly feeling. Every pleasing word and every pointed smile to him thrust a dagger into my pride, and at the same time overwhelmed me with anxiety for you. To hear the letters quoted was nearly unbearable, and each time you did so I endeavored to find some way of stopping it. I wished to avoid, at any cost of rudeness, what your expression would be when once again my acquaintance appeared perfectly cool to your effort. You were so engaged in the pursuit that at times I found myself nearly engrossed in you. Inevitably, something painfully amiss from your lips would bring me back to reality._

_I knew precisely what your sister was about when she joined our party, and I attempted to combat it with every power I possess, even in the knowledge that you must see my intentions, and loath me for my interference. After your sister’s departure, when you began to ask such boldfaced questions of letters and surprise, if you would have looked for one moment in my direction, it is quite likely that my demeanor would have entirely given me away. My pain, though maybe not so acutely felt as yours, was spread to three persons, in the manner of pain for my own insignificance to you, pain for the awkwardness my acquaintance felt in the sensation of missing all the principle meaning in your speeches, and pain of course for you, determined as you were, happy as you were prepared to be. I swore silently to give up all happiness and satisfaction for the rest of my life, that I might only be granted the ability to make your happiness complete in that moment. Such was my torture and desperation. I wish good where I might, and try, though I do sometimes fail, not to wish evil, but happiness I have always considered to be entirely subjective, entirely one’s own business. In your case I wished for a single moment of confirmation, a single reply that might make you feel reasonably assured, but I wished it to come from myself, which was impossible, and to hope that my acquaintance might manage such a thing was even less likely than that. You accused me of having the power at every moment to put a stop to it, but I had no power to do that which would result in the outcome I desired, and therefore no power at all, as throughout the entirety of my attachment I cared only to satisfy myself. I wrote, that my admired might be pleased with my praise, and I was deceptive, that her letters might not cease, and I was silent, that I might not bring her wrath upon me._

_There is yet another circumstance in which I must admit to my poor conduct, as it is something you no doubt have wondered about. The letters which you addressed to my acquaintance arrived at the firm 5 days after he had left it. His new placement was the only thing which prevented him from receiving your letter and soon knowing the whole of the matter. I, who was tasked with delivering all mail that had not been forwarded to his new address, immediately caught the unfamiliar writing, and seeing your name in the return, decided that it must be read. You see how despicable this was of me, for I had no way of knowing whether you were in fact regular correspondents, whether this letter was even remotely related to the ones I had sent, and yet I opened and read it. It was less a hunch about your error, and more a blind envy of his receiving mail from you, that prompted me to act so. I do not in the least excuse myself, nor will I shirk from any reprimand from yourself or my acquaintance, if you should reveal it to him._

_I am ashamed also of the letters sent after your replies, in which every sentence was fraught with dishonesty, except of course what was written about you. My greatest hope is that in your fury at me you have burned them. I have abandoned all thought of attentions, in the acknowledgement that after every unkindness, I am endowed only with the ability to take care that you not be unnecessarily burdened by me._

_Sincerely,_

_Kageyama Tobio_

The signature stung her as much as the rest of the letter. It was all so wrong, so very wrong!

It had been diabolical of him to hold back when in any moment he might have taken her aside and explained the whole. He allowed her to make a complete fool of herself, flirting and simpering as she had, believing it was what Ennoshita expected of her. How awful of him to let it go on so long. And what of his pain, might he not have sacrificed himself for the sake of two others? Was it not logical to cut such a cost, and was he not a lawyer of cold reason and efficiency?

Yet, he would not allow her to hate him, claiming that humility had motivated his secrecy. She wondered if she had indeed been so bad as to warrant his real fear. Had he really thought he had no option but dishonesty? He had chosen to write as someone else, a choice which offered no possible end but one in which both parties were hurt, and one disgusted with the other, but what in her behavior had given cause for such a thing? They had encountered one another only twice. She would have been shocked to receive such a letter from that particular quarter, but surely she had not convinced enough of her dislike that he would harbor the idea that she could not appreciate a man’s esteem for her, and his taking the time to write, where no one had before.

 

The contents of the letter were certainly cause for aggravation, but the existence of the letter on its own softened her, in a way she could hardly explain. She made know to her sisters that she did not wish for Kageyama to be exposed to anyone but their most intimate acquaintances. It was enough that he had voluntarily admitted his worst to her. Karasuno would only know that Ennoshita was involved in a misunderstanding, and entirely blameless in all Shoyo’s heartache. Furthermore, if Kageyama had any desire for his friend to know his evils (which she had immediately doubted, despite the assertion in the letter), he would have to see to it himself, because she had no intention of revealing them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hinatas go to town to see their brother. Other acquaintances make their appearance.

The winter seemed inclined to give out early, which answered to every wish of Hinata Daichi’s. Business was sending him to town, within reach of the village where he was so esteemed, and the family which he esteemed so. In his excitement he wrote a letter of considerable length, proposing that his three sisters meet him in town, that his spare time might be spent delighting in their presence. It seemed an age since they had been to town, and it was an age since they had seen their brother, so the girls’ approval was instantaneous. Their parents could say nothing of their daughters’ safety while in the company of their brother. It quickly followed that they should invite Hitoka, for he could hardly want to see her less than they, and when it was communicated to them, Hisashi said that he had been planning his own visit to some old schoolmates and would be obliged if they allowed him to accompany their party. A merry party it was to be.

Only Shoyo was burdened by any misgivings about a trip to town. Her sisters read her mind and tried their best to ease it, though the fear was a legitimate one. Kageyama, who to their knowledge she had not seen since the carriage ride, worked in town.

“The horror of seeing him! I fear it would be bad enough to ruin even the happiness which seeing my brother will give me.”

“It is very unlikely, my dear,” said Koushi, a fifth time. “Highly unlikely. I have told you that I heard from Shimizu that the lawyers, and especially the one we do not mention, do not get away from their work often while in town. They are hardly to be bothered with social engagements.”

“That does not surprise me,” said Shoyo. “He is antisocial fit for a crime. He ought to be on trial himself!”

“Think of how many people there are in town. And we have hardly an acquaintance there, the likelihood of our sharing one with him is next to nothing.”

“Why, how can you say so, when we share one very particular acquaintance who will almost certainly call upon us while we are there?”

And who, she wished to add, none of them had met since that night when her own behavior brought shame to her undeserving family.

“We cannot be certain of that anymore, Shoyo,” said Tadashi, “After all that has happened. We may discover that the acquaintance has been dropped entirely.”

“Or,” said Koushi, “If Ennoshita does endeavor to wait on us, Kageyama will be privy to his plan and stay as far from it as possible. He can have no motivation to see you, Sho, he said as much himself in the last letter.”

This was perhaps a little more of the truth than she had wanted to hear. No motivation to see her, not even that of curiosity as to how she would act, or that of a wish to see her sisters and friend, who he had praised in his reserved way, in spite of the risk that she would be with them? She did not think she had any wish to see him, but there was something which wilted her about his not seeking a meeting. She supposed her vanity liked the prospect of being looked forward to, and the more people to do so would mean the more pleasure for her.

 

Luggage was packed. Their friends met them at their house, and the five were conveyed to town at a good pace in spite of the muddy roads. At the inn, the Kinoshitas lagged behind to allow for a private reunion between the girls and their brother. At two months past 28, he looked as well as he had looked at their last parting, as steady and sturdy as always. After he had greeted the friends, and after the pleasantries and exclamations at his sisters were finished, he immediately entreated Shoyo to tell him how she was, and if it was true what had befallen her. Her sisters huddled next to him as he took her hand to encourage her speech. She obliged, with some earnest blushes of shame, to tell him of the complicated feelings, the uneven pace of the healing process. He chided her for the tears that snuck out, but his two firm hands warming hers assured of his compassion.

It was a good time to be in town; those who were staying for the winter had not yet stirred, and traffic to and from the surrounding villages had not begun to flow at full force, so there was not the bustle there could have been. The natives of Karasuno, not used to bustle, preferred it this way. They enjoyed shops of the kind they did not have in the village: bookshops, bonnet shops, shops for only bridal wear. Their brother took them to a play one evening, where the seats were not too crowded. Shoyo and Hisashi found it to be quite funny, and amused the others with their amusement. Every day there was less snow. With all the things to tell their brother, there was not a dull moment of the day or night, and the time flew.

They had been in town four days of their two weeks, when they attended their first engagement, a dinner invitation their brother had secured for them. The girls were having their hair done while Daichi counted off the other guests. At the name Ennoshita, Shoyo froze quicker than her sisters.

“Do not be alarmed, Shoyo,” said her brother, “At his friend, the one who was innocent in all this, being there. How likely is it for the other man to attend? Surely if your last meeting went as badly as you have said, he will not come and subject himself even to your very distant presence, as it would irritate his nerves as much as yours.”

It became apparent, ten minutes after their arrival at dinner, that Sir Kageyama’s character was not as well known to any of them as previously thought. Shoyo, with Hitoka at her side, saw him across the room. This dinner was more formal than the ones they had at home among intimate neighbors; the girls had worn first-rate dresses, and the room was so decorated by candles and rugs as to be almost grand. He stood alone at a wall, looking as fine as ever in such a setting. She let her eyes rest there. He had seen her also, but already looked away. Hitoka, watching her watch him, whispered:

“Shoyo…”

“Miss Hitoka. Miss Hinata.”

They turned. Ennoshita smiled down at them.

“It has been far too long.”

“Hello sir.”

Shoyo curtseyed, her friend mimicking her.

“How did the distance to town treat you?” he said.

“It was a smooth trip.”

“And has your stay been pleasant thus far?”

“Oh, very pleasant, I think Hitoka will agree.”

“Oh yes.”

“We have been only a small party until tonight, but of course our brother’s company is worth the world to us, and while he has been busy during the day we have visited some fine shops in our area.”

“I do look forward to meeting your brother,” said Ennoshita. “But have your parents really stayed at home? I heard as much, but would have thought Sir Hinata was enough to lure them here.”

“He plans to go to them, in the last few days of his stay.”

“I see. It will only add to the delight of it all.”

“We see one of your acquaintances next to the piano,” said Shoyo. “Are you with a large party?”

“There are only the two of us,” he smiled. “I do apologize for my failure to provide anyone more entertaining to you.”

“Oh no, it is no failure at all.”

“Would it be possible to entreat the two of you to be friendly with him? It is rare that he comes out with me at all, here in town, and it was most certainly your influence which worked on him this time.”

Shoyo turned to her friend.

“I have no objection, unless you have, Hitoka.”

“None at all,” was her reply.

“Splendid,” he said. “I will perform the introduction again, this being perhaps the fourth time.”

He led them to his friend.

“Kageyama, I have brought you the promised familiar persons. Ask the Karasuno folks how they are, and do bother to make yourself agreeable. The eldest Hinata is with them in town, you know. Their brother.”

“How do you do.” He gave one bow of the head.

“I will see whether the others are sufficiently disengaged to be brought to you, though I doubt its being the case. Already you are popular,” he said to the ladies. Then he bowed himself away.

Shoyo did not shy from looking at him. He blinked at her, then looked back to Hitoka.

“How was the trip to town?”

“It passed pleasantly enough,” said Hitoka.

“Would you be in agreement, Miss Hinata?” His eyes trailed her face for only a moment.

“Oh no,” she said, “I cannot say that she speaks for me also. Waiting in such painful excitement for a sight of my brother, it could not be too pleasant a trip for myself.”

“Great affection for him does you no discredit, I am sure.”

“We hardly hoped for the honor of seeing you, Sir Kageyama,” she went on, “Having been told you engage yourself but little here in town.”

In some irritation he answered.

“My work keeps me largely disengaged from lighthearted society. You are unjust in your implication that my own disdain for keeping company prevents my being much in the habit of attending to engagements.”

“Do forgive me, sir, I recall now that it was phrased more to your way. I meant no harm of my speech, I assure you.”

This did not ease his stiffened manners.

“Furthermore,” said he, “In the invitation for tonight I was promised that there would be those here who I am rather well acquainted with, which is not often the case.”

“And we can be sure your lack of intimate acquaintance has nothing to do with the fact of your not engaging yourself while in town?”

He had no answer.

“My brother is also of our party,” said Hitoka. “He will be pleased to meet with you again. He has praised your cleverness of mind, and enjoys your company in earnest.”

As her friend was so good as to carry on the conversation, Shoyo looked around her, and saw Koushi motioning. At the next convenient moment she curtseyed herself away and went to her sister, who tugged her into the hall where her brother waited.

“We are about to have the introduction, Shoyo,” he said, “So tell me how you would have me act. How should I speak to the man who has so injured you? In what manner would you prefer me to make myself known to him?’

“Oh, you always know the way to act. I trust whole-heartedly in your discretion. Only hurry, my poor wonderful Hitoka is alone with him.”

“Then come, my sister, and my sister.”

He gave an arm to each of them, and they reentered the growing party. Shoyo did not check her smile as she spoke.

“I present my sister, sir.”

Koushi curtseyed.

“And this is my brother, the eldest of us.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” said Daichi.

“The pleasure is mine.”

After his bow, Daichi took hold of Shoyo’s hand at his side.

“I have yet to meet anyone who is without some measure of fondness for your family,” said Kageyama.

“That is gratifying, to be sure. My sisters claim I have a blind partiality, but I claim it is justly founded.”

“Justly indeed,” Kageyama said, with one glance in her direction. To counter his mistake, he turned to Koushi with a small nod, which she returned.

“The friends of your family are a well-chosen set as well.”

Shoyo was a little touched, through her spite. It was rather good of him to include Hitoka in such a manner.

“I must agree,” said Daichi. “I miss them almost as dearly as those who bear my own name.”

Then came the moment.

“You are not an unpopular subject of conversation among my sisters,” Daichi said. “They do not often choose ill, so I have every reason to believe you a worthy fellow.”

By this it was plain enough to the lawyer that the whole of the affair was known to the brother. His reply was measured.

“I shall make every effort to prove my worth to such genuinely good young ladies.”

Shoyo thought it all very well and proper and in some measure healing, that he would get such civil attention from those close to her. As to her own behavior, she was less inclined to let him off. After all, no recollection of the encounter in the chaise could in any way measure to what it had been to be part of it; no matter the words she used, the fury and crushing agony could not be recreated. She was alone in feeling it, and only one had the firsthand sight of her as she was tortured by such feelings.

Her lasting bitterness was such that even though the experience of the letters had left her with a certain sympathy, and, in a way that was hard to explain, effectively ended any design she had on Ennoshita, when at dinner the three of them happened to be seated in a row, she found in this purely pleasant young man a tool of torment to be used against the one she resented.

“This winter has been so easy on us,” she said.

“Yes, rather delightful on the whole,” said Ennoshita. “If work had not been what it was, I should have had no excuse not to make another visit to Karasuno before spring.”

“I decided this year that I prefer harsh winters, and dreadfully hot summers.”

“Heavens, what can you mean by that?”

“If things are always too easy, one may come to resent rather than enjoy them. It is challenges which make living into a life. Challenging circumstances, and challenging persons that one may meet.”

Kageyama sat to the right of Ennoshita, and did not appear to be engaged in any conversation, so she knew he must have heard her. Koushi was on her left, listening too.

“Is this your secret for appearing so lively at all times?” said Ennoshita. “Are you a challenge seeker?”

“I do not seek them, only approve of them when they present themselves to me.”

“To my understanding, then, you approve of agreeable people less than other kinds of people.”

“Of course. People who are nothing but agreeable offer me no chance to develop the better virtues. Patience, forgiveness.”

“You speak in jest.”

“Perhaps,” she smiled.

After a minute, she spoke again.

“Do you have many opportunities to dance, here in town?”

“Many more than we are able to take advantage of,” said Ennoshita.

“A shame indeed. So many, too, must be held in the hope that such young men might be prevailed upon to leave their offices.”

“You presume us much more favored than we are. Our reception in Karasuno was undoubtedly the warmest, only because you are such a small, close-knit group, and we disrupters of this.”

“But the news that you are not to attend must be received with markedly more disappointment than news of others. Of course you yourselves cannot answer this question, as you are not there to observe the reaction to your not being of the party.”

“Why do you try to flatter us, miss?”

“My intention is not so simple as that,” said Shoyo. “I wish to warn you. Your impact is so great that you must take special care of your conduct. For as good as opinions are of you at first, the ruin of these opinions will be equal in the opposite direction, should you misspeak, or misstep.”

“In this you make us out to be quite the scoundrels,” Ennoshita cried. “Do you mean to put in us the fear of poor opinions?”

“Oh no, I mean very well. I mean to advise you that a sensible woman would trade the most handsome man, the most intelligent one, and one who had all the wealth in the world, for a man who is honest.”

“I daresay. Character should be of primary importance in someone she intends to spend her life with.”

“I am afraid, Miss Shoyo,” said Koushi, “That I am less ready to agree with you.”

“What is the cause of your hesitation, my sister?”

“Your generalization is faulty. No two women are born with the same kind of prudence. We are all sensible in different ways, and where for one woman it might appear quite mercenary to accept an offer that has little to recommend other than its advantage of situation, another woman of just the same age and stature may think it a perfectly sensible way to attach herself. In the same way a woman might be sufficiently tempted by appearance, or quick wit. What you ought to have said to Sir Ennoshita is that your particular brand of sense approves of an honest man over most other kinds of men.”

Ennoshita laughed.

“Nevertheless, Miss Hinata has given a good piece of advice,” said he. “If Kageyama and I are to gain approval, we would do well to forget the things we cannot easily change, and nurture those which are entirely dependent on our choices.”

“Well and good,” said Shoyo, “But I hope you have diligence to spare, as it may prove exceptionally difficult for two such young men.”

“By that I assume you express your disdain for our line of work.”

“Certainly not. I do not in the least scorn your profession. It is just this, that you have so much of the first three already that I wonder how you will see around them to consider honesty.”

“Upon my word, Kageyama, she intends to be severe on us. But on you most particularly, for you have the greater share of all three.”

“The world is nonsensical, is it not, Sir Kageyama?” said Shoyo. “All the things you were taught would help you in securing regards are somehow working against your favor.”

“I know perfectly well, Miss Hinata,” said Kageyama, “That natural endowments have nowhere near the value of good conduct. Though I am sure there are others who could make good use of your advice.”

As they were leaving the dinner table, her sister held her by the skirt.

“I must say I have not heard from you a speech which was more uncivil than that one,” said Koushi. “It does not matter that your principal audience could detect none of the ill will.”

Shoyo turned on her with a flush of anger. But her sister’s countenance was serious, and she could not speak to it.

“Do you not think your brother would have scolded you if he had overheard? You are a good girl, Shoyo, you do not repay unkindness with unkindness, putting yourself at his level.”

“I—My sister, I am sorry…”

“Do not mistake me, Shoyo. It is not me who deserves an apology.”

Kageyama actively avoided her the rest of the evening, which she could not help but be grateful for. Koushi knew that her words had affected her sister, and endeavored to make her forget them at least until they left.

When she and Hitoka were returned to their shared room at the inn, and had undressed and tucked one another in, Shoyo told her how she had taunted Kageyama.

“I do believe my sister was right to scold me. After receiving his letter of wholehearted apology, it was an ill-mannered thing to do.”

“But you meant no real harm, did you?” said Hitoka. “Your speeches are always playful, but mean no harm.”

“Harm is the only thing that could come of my speaking at length of honesty and good conduct. You must believe me, Hitoka, when I say I did not go to dinner with any idea of giving hateful speeches to him.”

“Oh no, of course not.”

“But his friend! He is so very good, so genuinely pleasant, and wholly innocent in the matter. Speaking with Ennoshita, and comparing the two again in my mind, I must have allowed spite to blossom in their differences. Once again his charms overtake me and cause me to act disgracefully.”

“I know you to be incapable of disgrace.”

“Impropriety, then. I must not meet with the two together anymore, I think. But they are always together. Such is the penance I deserve for welcoming challenge.”

 

Once the prospect of a first meeting with Sir Kageyama was done away with, the Hinatas had nothing short of a grand time. They were meeting many new fine-mannered people with a genuine interest in them; some of these were acquaintances of Ennoshita’s, who had heard them spoken highly of. In each introduction the girls never failed to be pretty and possess pleasing manners. Their brother was mourned over for his single status as much as Hisashi was for being already spoken for. Shoyo was quietly delighted by her connection to such endearing ladies and gentlemen. She understood that all her better qualities must appear to advantage when she was surrounded by such a party.

They attended a brunch which the lawyers were obliged to miss. That very afternoon, the gallantry of Ennoshita proved itself when he arranged to leave work for an hour and have tea with the girls, who were staying in a neighborhood very near his.

“My friend and I yesterday had the most peculiar conversation we have ever had before,” said Ennoshita.

Shoyo was quiet, in a little shame and much nervous curiosity.

“Do tell,” said Tadashi.

“Kageyama came with a letter for me, and asked whether I was engaged for the night. I told him I had been invited, but was not available to attend. Now, this part should flatter you all, for it is marked in a man like Kageyama. He then asked if the Karasuno party was meant to be at this engagement. I said that they were. I extended my invitation to him, for just as you say, Miss Hinata, they could hardly object to his going in my stead. He declined, giving the same excuse I had, but it is noteworthy that he has an interest in socializing. If it were any other man, I would guess that he was in love with one of you, but I dare not presume where Kageyama is concerned, especially since he has paid no particular attention to one. Nevertheless, I find it peculiar.”

Shoyo had turned completely from the table and was pressing her hands hard into her lap, that her jittery legs not run her off.

“At the very least,” he said, “It speaks to the truth of your being a lovely and amiable set of people, for he has never shown such interest even in visitors from his home, who he has known most of his life.”

The other girls were scarcely less pink, and in their moment of silence Ennoshita had time to observe it. He laughed.

“Why, you are all hoping that it might be one of the others! Do not be so alarmed, for I told you also of my doubts. Really, though, he is a very good man, and would make a credible effort in the position of companion.”

“Oh no, we did not intend to give the impression that we thought little of him,” said Koushi. “I daresay he is a very fine acquaintance and neighbor of ours. But we are sensitive ladies, sir, and you surprised us with so sudden an insinuation about Sir Kageyama having an attachment to one of us.”

“I can hardly be blamed for your modesty.”

“It is less about modesty, and more about the excitement of such a thing.”

“By all means, I share in your excitement. I shall take more care to observe him where it concerns Karasuno.”

When he had left them, Shoyo burst from her seat.

“Do you think Kageyama put him up to it? How could he talk so? Might he not have been sent to speak on such a topic in way of revenge to my teasing?”

“Ennoshita was not aware of the meaning for his friend in your speeches,” said Koushi. “He would have to make the whole of it known to Ennoshita in order to use his friend effectively.”

“But suppose he asked deliberately after us in order that Ennoshita might gossip about his interest, and make us all embarrassed.”

“What motive could he have for our embarrassment when he was not here to see it?” said Tadashi.

“I do not know, but I must have a walk immediately.”

She left, and Hitoka followed. The sisters trailed behind, still murmuring.

“The most likely,” said Koushi, “Is that Kageyama has a wish to be forewarned of her presence, and Ennoshita found his interest unusual and made a logical speculation.”

“Is it not just as likely that Kageyama, meeting with her again, has found that he still harbors feelings of affection?”

“I would believe as much, only as Ennoshita said, he has paid her no particular attention.”

“He never did do so, not really. His feelings escaped his reserve only in the letters.”

“Speaking of the letters, in the last he said that he had abandoned all intentions of pursuing her. That may either have been a lie to pretend at modesty, or a point on which he has not yet convinced his heart to agree with his head.”

“Upon my word,” said Tadashi, “This is only more confusing than before.”

 

On the thirteenth and last night of their stay, they attended a miniature ball which had been put together by some of their new acquaintances as a parting favor. It was held in the drawing room of a large townhouse, giving it an air of domesticity which was heightened by the dynamic of the two groups of siblings. Sir Kinoshita was the only betrothed person of the whole gathering, but despite all the singles, the mood was a hopeful and comfortable one. The Karasuno ladies were delightfully enthusiastic dancers, and the gentlemen perfectly accommodating; on the whole it was pleasing to watch.

According to their hosts, not one of the lawyers was available to attend, so it surprised observers when Sir Kageyama arrived, quite late and alone. The dancing was nearly over, Sir Hinata and Kinoshita being thoroughly worn out by their sisters. Kageyama watched along with those who had already given in to fatigue. Hinata Daichi was dancing with his sister Shoyo, while Miss Tadashi partnered with Hisashi. The girls’ dresses were swashed in various shades of blue, and their brother sported blue buttons up his shirt. Miss Shoyo was laughing at Daichi’s stony brow, as he determined to step livelier than her until the very end. She cried out to her other sister, who was standing to the side.

“Koushi you must finish him!”

Her sister transitioned into her place, and Shoyo backed away from the dance, huffing. She turned and found herself a foot or less from Kageyama. The smile was fixed on her flushed face, and she gave a tiny curtsey as she passed. She took a seat next to Hitoka, and watched him speak briefly to one host, then go away.

 

On the fourteenth day they made their way back home with their brother’s company, for the village could hardly have forgiven him for not visiting. The parents saw their son, and the sisters took him around to the familiar doting persons. On the sixteenth morning they said farewell, without tears but not without an ache.


	8. Chapter 8

The village could not stand to be outdone by the folks in town, where their prized young ladies were concerned, and all the neighborhood scheming resulted in a large private ball to be held at the very old and noble house of the Tanakas. It was to be a ball specifically for the young and single, and for that, fast-paced and lively as possible. Every young person within a four-county area received an invitation, and to make the gathering especially entertaining, Karasuno contrived to bring in every cousin, niece, nephew and grandchild it could.

The blossoming of spring and the slow revelation of sunshine was enough on its own to make the girls restless, but with the addition of the upcoming ball, there was now no peace to be had in the house unless the daughters were gone from it. They talked of guests, of gowns, of music, and of course dancing, since the winter had rather spoiled them and deepened their longing for the activity. Their parents did not find the speculative talk so interesting or endearing as the necessary reports to follow the ball, so the girls took care not to discuss it during meals. But each night before sleep they gathered in one of their bedrooms to share every possible expectation.

“I suppose Kageyama has been invited,” said Shoyo. “They could hardly avoid him, as his situation stands.”

“But no one knows whether he will attend,” said Koushi. “I have asked as often as I can, and there has been no confirmation from him.”

“I suppose his work makes it hard to confirm much in advance,” said Tadashi.

“He ought to come for the sake of making himself a respectable neighbor, since he is apparently determined to make his home in the country,” said Shoyo.

“I wonder if he will not come with a particular interest in singling out some lady or another as a potential partner,” said Koushi. “That is his only lack, after all. Where Ennoshita has hard-won professional respect ahead, and property to acquire, Sir Kageyama is nothing if not prepared to take on a wife.”

“Or prepared to stay single, if he should wish it,” said the youngest. “We hear nothing of his mother or sister holding expectations for him. He is apparently accountable to no one but himself.”

Tadashi suddenly threw her hand over her mouth, as Koushi cried:

“Oh Shoyo! We are sorry, the usual vein of gossip caught us up. Pay us no mind.”

“It is quite all right,” she said, though her eyes were tight. “Yours is a natural curiosity. It only made me think of those first letters.”

“I spoke carelessly and I do apologize,” said Koushi.

“So do I.”

Tadashi touched her arm. Finally Shoyo laughed.

“I am as curious as yourselves about him,” she said. “I long to hear him talked of. I do not really know what to make of it, but so it is. Perhaps I feel guilty for rejecting him, and for my continued ill-humor. If we were civil acquaintances I could be more at ease about matchmaking for him.”

“He is among the most interesting men of our acquaintance, I think,” said Tadashi. “We know everything and nothing of his character, it is quite strange.”

“Yes. I would like to know more of him, but am afraid to, for what if one day I came to really like him? Then the rest of my life might be attached to pains of regret.”

“In that case, you should regret only that he behaved so abominably to you,” said Koushi. “You should regret only that an otherwise agreeable young man made poor choices which caused you much pain and confusion of feelings.”

“Yes, I suppose so. Do you think then that he will soon make a serious attempt at securing someone’s regard? I wish to know how you see the matter, because for my part I cannot make it out at all.”

“Heavens, I do not think with any certainty,” said the eldest. “It is only a conjecture. A logical step for such a young man, but one that he may very well be inclined to delay, or skip over entirely.”

“And I am certain in only one respect,” said Tadashi. She hugged her sister. “His blunders have prevented his securing someone who would have made him desperately happy.”

“Miss Tadashi,” Koushi cried, “As the eldest did I not have the right to such praise?”

She joined their embrace.

“Tadashi, why do I feel your tears?” said Shoyo.

They broke apart, and the youngest wiped her eyes.

“It is just…Since I was twelve years old, I have wished that we might only stay together, just the four of us, and find all the care and delight we could need in one another,” Tadashi said. “But I know that is not prudent in terms of fortune, nor do I wish to deny any of my siblings the satisfactions of a romantic relationship. But still, if we could only be this way—”

She could not stop a second round of tears.

“I should be ever so happy with you, my sisters.”

They laughed at her, then comforted and agreed with her.

“You must realize,” said Shoyo, “That Koushi and I have already been happier with you than we can ever be with a man, for you will not leave us for the navy, nor write a letter with no name. My happiness with you has been complete.”

“Koushi, you are the eldest, so do make her stop talking.”

And thus the night was marked in each of their minds as one to be thought of with the deepest tenderness, if they should ever find their situation in life changed, for better or worse.

 

It became apparent that each of their predictions about Kageyama’s behavior was destined to be disproved. He came to the ball, but danced with no one, and stayed almost always within his group of two or three male acquaintances. As for Ennoshita, he was considered city folk and had not been invited.

The Miss Hinatas and Miss Hitoka were making wonderful use of every first impression, as noted by the parents of Sir Tanaka, who served as the link between the older people of the village and the ball’s happenings. They had endeavored to present the girls with every lady and gentleman of good breeding as they had connection to, that the girls might end the night with high hopes from multiple quarters. They had all chosen new trimmings for their best dresses, and looked lovelier and more grown than ever. Even their oldest friends gave affected compliments, and returned more than once to be merely in conversation with them for a few more moments.

When the dancing began, the night became a whirlwind. Shoyo shared the first with Sir Tanaka; the rest followed so rapidly that when Tadashi asked her, she could not remember the order of them beyond the first. As they were speaking, the band started into the youngest sister’s favorite song, and Shoyo’s least favorite (though she always took care never to say so). Tadashi quickly paired with Sir Kinoshita, and Shoyo took these few minutes to rest her feet and sip a little water.

She looked about her; aside from Tanaka’s mother, she was the only lady sitting down for this dance. Dark hair caught the corner of her eye, but just as she turned to look at Kageyama, his eyes pulled away and he walked off to the other end of the room. She watched him settle there against the wall, and her blood boiled.

Avoiding her eye so that he might not be prevailed upon to offer her a dance, who could be called the uncivil one now? And he had not spoken a word to any of them but Hitoka and her brother. Could they not even meet in such a crowd and act like regular acquaintances? What nonsense! She was on her feet before she had decided what to do. This distance and coolness must end, she was sick to death of it. Kageyama was a well-bred young man, and she an agreeable and well-mannered lady. They _would_ be civil, no matter if it took a certain boldness on her part.

As she crossed the room her irritation ebbed away, so that by the time she reached him, she found her voice rather timid.

“Pardon.”

He turned with carelessness, until he looked down and saw her. Then the blue of his eyes went bright with shock. She gave a curtsey, but did not wait for him to bow back.

“I wondered, sir, whether I might have the honor of dancing with you.”

He was silent. But as she stood there she did not seem to be losing her nerve. Instead she was looking harder and harder at him, challenging with a sweet, slight smile.

“I do not dance. Well,” he said.

“You would not make a fool of yourself at the expense of pleasing an earnest young lady. I see.”

A nerve was successfully touched.

“That was not a refusal. I was simply providing due warning.”

“Then I should warn you in turn, that I am considered to be a relatively skilled dancer, especially if the beat is fast.”

“I know,” he said. “I have seen it.”

“Would you like to dance, Sir Kageyama?”

“I would gladly dance with you.”

She smiled.

“Splendid.”

She turned and walked back to where she had been. When she stopped and faced the dance, she saw that he had followed. They waited in silence as the number came to a close. Then as pairs split and traded and scattered away, he followed her into the fray.

She smiled through the whole routine, though only in general, never at him. He was even taller than what she was accustomed to in partners, so it took a few turns to perfect the linking of arms and touching of hands. Each time they came together she smiled a little more, and gave the evening more silent praise. And she had more and more fun, as they went along.

When it was done, their hands fell away to their sides. She looked up, sighed through a smile, and said:

“Thank you, sir, for the pleasure.”

He gave a hurried bow to her curtsey. Then she walked away.

The moment Kageyama was safely across the room, her friend and younger sister came to her side.

“Upon my word, Sho, did we see you dancing with Sir Kageyama just now? He does not dance with anyone. I have never seen him dance.”

“Nor have I,” said Hitoka.

“How in the world did this happen?”

“I asked him, and he gave a favorable answer.”

“You did no such thing Shoyo, I would not believe it of you,” said her sister.

“I did indeed, otherwise there would be no accounting for it. I can assure you, he had no intention of approaching me with such a proposal.”

Her sister stared at her, and her friend touched her arm, smiling fondly but with anxiety.

After the last dance they met up with their other sister, who joined them in sitting while most of the crowd made for the doors and their carriages.

“Shoyo, I do believe I missed the sight, as I was at the time most unfortunately partnered with Nishinoya, but Shimizu said that you danced with Sir Kageyama.”

“She invited him!” Tadashi said.

“Heaven and earth, you did no such thing, did you?”

“I did.”

“Gracious! And he agreed, is what I am to believe?”

“His steps were rather stiffly executed, but he was an attentive partner, and on the whole pleased me very well.”

“The answer to my next question I fear even more,” said Koushi. “What did you mean by such a gesture?”

“I can hardly give an answer to that, except that I was sick and tired of stepping around one another in the way we had been. Besides that, if he has no wish to dance he ought not to come to our balls, so now he may decide whether he is sufficiently mortified and will in future decline.”

Her sister could only shake her head.

“I believe it was the only dance he had with anyone,” said Hitoka.

“I daresay, if he must be prevailed upon directly,” said Koushi.

“Now we know his secret, then,” said Shoyo. “If he comes next time, all the young ladies may ask him, and between all of us we will make him into a suitable guest at last.”

“No young lady,” said Koushi, “Will ever believe enough in your security, let alone her own, to consider it possible to ask such a man directly, right in the moment when the opportunity presents itself.”

After a pause, Shoyo said:

“I enjoyed myself. Surely you can all take some comfort in that fact, given what his overall effect on my spirit has been.”

To this they all smiled in earnest.

“It is true,” said Koushi, “That is nearly a sufficient solace.”

As they went home, she did not know what they were thinking of, but she could not stop thinking of his reply. He had said, simply as always, that he would be glad to dance, would be glad to do what she asked of him. Perhaps he thought her a good dancer and was not ashamed to stand up with her. Perhaps he too wished that there might be civility between them. Or perhaps, she most quietly suggested to herself, there was still a particular fondness for her which made him glad to accept. At the very least, she had apparently been right to ask him.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tea with Miss Takeda, followed by dinner with friends, followed by an argument with her father

Koushi and Tadashi did not wonder so much at the gentleman’s line of thought as at their sister’s. She had shown him a marked attention, that became the primary bit of gossip in relation to the ball, but which Shoyo would not own as an affectionate attention. Her parents, having admitted no guests since the ball’s taking place, knew nothing of the matter, and her sisters would not endeavor to mention it to them, understanding it so little themselves. If she really liked him, what could she mean by being so hesitant to approach, by disregarding him the entire evening save for one dance, and if she still did not like him, why would she approach at all?

They expressed these doubts to Hitoka, who had more power than they to go about discerning an answer. The Kinoshitas were to have another dinner, with the Tanakas, Naritas, Hinatas, and Kageyama in attendance, if the last could be prevailed upon to come. By fate, the first suggested date was suitable, and their invitation replied to with an affirmation.

On the afternoon of this dinner date, the girls went to the village for tea with Miss Takeda Nano. It was the first such invitation she had the pleasure of giving, having just been allowed to come out into society, and they delighted in the prospect of it. As they passed beside the main road, they happened to see a familiar figure they had not expected, but who created no little interest. Sir Kageyama had appeared opposite them.

“Since we have seen him, we ought to speak to him,” said Koushi. “Do you suppose?”

“Yes, we should.”

Shoyo took her sister by the elbow and led her across the road. The other two, thoroughly bewildered, hurried to keep up. He saw them as he left the steps of the butcher’s, and waited for their approach.

“How do you do, sir?” said Koushi.

“Fine, thank you. Has the good weather brought you from home?”

“It would have, if we were not already engaged for tea.”

“Might we inquire as to your business in the village today?” said Shoyo.

“Business of the general kind. I was obliged to come this direction anyway, for an evening engagement. I understand that I am to see the four of you there.”

“Indeed.”

“To my knowledge,” he said, “There is not another group of ladies who could contrive to have two engagements in one day, out in the country. You are impressively sociable.”

“It is hardly more impressive than your own habit of driving an hour and a half so often,” said Koushi.

“Presently there is little to entertain at home.”

“Yes, that part of the county is quite desolate.”

“Perhaps,” said Shoyo, “Sir Kageyama is in need of more friends in the country, that he might be sufficiently entertained. We are meeting this afternoon with a girl of delightful manners, who only just came out last week. She would be much obliged to make your acquaintance. We will be her first female visitors, and you might be the first male, if you would be so kind.”

“You speak of Mr. Takeda’s daughter.”

“Do not tell me you have already been introduced, even before our official introduction!”

“No, to be sure, I have never seen her,” he said. “That is my chief objection to the plan.”

“Oh, but I highly recommend that you accompany us,” said Koushi, her playfulness awakened. “If you are the first young man she formally meets, she could hardly remember you other than fondly, and the acquaintance is sure to be a satisfying one while you remain in close proximity. Do come with us, sir.”

“It will take but a minute of your time,” said Shoyo. “Only allow us to introduce Miss Nano to a gentleman.”

“I must insist on not taking anybody by surprise,” he said.

“Oh, how can you object to such a good surprise?”

“I would not consider it a surprise,” said Koushi. “She will be waiting in the garden, and you might be only an acquaintance we chanced to meet, and who we would not allow to miss the opportunity of meeting a dear friend of ours.”

“Miss Takeda has gone from a girl newly come out, to an acquaintance, to a dear friend, in one conversation,” he observed.

“A friend she might not be yet,” said Shoyo, “But dear, she most certainly is.”

“I do believe,” said Tadashi, “That it would give her great pleasure to have you call upon her.”

Though a lawyer, Kageyama was not used to attacks of this nature, accompanied by four such smiles, and his power to refuse slipped entirely from him.

“If three of you are in such certainty of its bringing her pleasure,” he said, “I cannot logically distrust the opinion.”

“Then let us hurry,” said Shoyo, “That you may return to your business promptly, as promised.”

Miss Takeda was waiting at the garden gate, and all her surprise at the fifth guest was so openly displayed on her face as to heighten the girls’ pleasure in Kageyama’s accompanying them. Shoyo, to the surprise of her sisters, took the introduction upon herself.

“Miss Nano, if you would kindly allow us to present Sir Kageyama.”

Nano curtseyed, and he bowed.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

“My pleasure is equal,” she said. “You are often talked of here in the village.”

He barely nodded.

“I have heard your property in the north of this county is quite charming.”

“Hardly charming to me, being familiar, but I have heard it praised for as much before. This garden is quite pleasingly laid out.”

“Thank you. My father and I work together on its design every year.”

“I will give him my compliments also,” said Kageyama, “For I have business with him this afternoon. I hope you will enjoy your tea and your company.”

“Oh, thank you, that is a certainty, I think. It was very kind of you to go out of your way for me.”

“I was assured it an opportunity I would do well to take advantage of. Good day, Miss Nano.”

“Ado.”

The other girls silently rejoiced at it having gone off so well for her; a young lady just come into society is always in necessary pains about pleasing in her choice of words and manner of delivery. Nano ushered them into the garden, and to a little gazebo, shaded from sun and netted from bugs. A servant waited for them to take their seats, then poured out the tea and passed around the cakes. When she had gone away, Nano said:

“That was very good of you, such a pleasure indeed. That you would introduce me to such a fine gentleman of your acquaintance, I thank you.”

“Sir Kageyama is often in the village,” said Shoyo, “And we thought you ought to know him as soon as possible, that he might have the pleasure of calling on you again next time he is here.”

“That would be an honor, to be sure. Oh Miss Hinata, he is exceptionally handsome! I heard that at the ball he danced only once, with you, and I was thinking of it as you introduced him, and deeming the one who stood up with him a very lucky creature. So tall, such an intelligent face, and such eyes.” She paused to blush. “I understand now why my father has worried about my encountering such people.”

Koushi laughed. “Your manners were perfectly unassuming, and perfectly suited to the familiarity of the acquaintance.”

“Except that you need not praise young men so much,” said Shoyo. “Even if not to their person, they may hear of it in some roundabout way, and it is quite possible for them to become bigheaded.”

“Oh yes, I should be more reserved in it. My manners are not yet equal to meeting a handsome young man, I suppose.”

“But as Koushi said, your behavior to him was without flaw. And I can tell you myself that he is a rather difficult person to be civil with at first, with much pride and no openness to speak of in his airs.”

“But you do consider him to be an agreeable young man?”

“I do not use the word liberally, where Sir Kageyama is concerned,” said Shoyo. “But I have never denied that he was handsome, or clever, or in any way impressive.”

“His cheerfulness is certainly not equal to any of yours, my dear neighbors.”

“No, his is a rather depressed spirit, from what we have seen of him,” said Koushi. “Or perhaps, only repressed, by a natural reserve.”

“But whether reserve is considered a fault, depends solely on individual opinion,” said Shoyo. “While it may make one appear less agreeable in public, I do not think it proves with any certainty that one has less understanding of people, or less regard for them.”

“I do agree with you, Miss Hinata, for I have heard Miss Hitoka described as reserved, but it was said in praise, and deemed a very sweet trait of hers.”

“Of course it was,” she smiled.

 

Her eagerness to speak to him that afternoon on the road, in combination with her nearly pardoning his manners as they talked with Nano, concerned her sisters to the extent that when they returned home, the two immediately sought a conference with their parents. Shoyo went unawares up to her room, while they joined their father and mother in the drawing room and entreated them to listen to an important issue. With their children all grown, Mr. and Mrs. Hinata were all but willing to oblige on the rare occasions that they could offer useful advice or assistance, and listened with perfect attention.

The sisters humbly, earnestly requested that one of their parents accompany them to tonight’s dinner party, for the purpose of observing the behaviors of their daughter and her once admirer. They were very confused, and a little fearful, that she did not know what she was about, and had begun into some recklessness. That Kageyama still regarded her, they were only a little more certain of than Shoyo’s own softening opinion, and they owned also that they did not know the extent of her belief in his remaining partial to her. They wished for a third opinion, and thought their mother the more likely to be concerned in such a matter, but she was even less persuadable than her husband to venture from home on short notice, and their father’s quick consent reminded the girls of his declaration concerning the one who had so injured his high-spirited daughter. Shoyo, when she found out of his attendance, was nothing short of ecstatic, and betrayed no suspicion that she knew of her sisters’ intent in persuading him.

 

Upon arrival they were first met by Sir Tanaka, who Shoyo was prevailed upon to argue with longer than the rest of her family. Consequently she encountered the next greeter, Sir Kageyama, alone.

“How do you do?” she said.

“Well.”

“Did your business this afternoon go off tolerably well?”

“Indeed.”

“If I had business of such a kind,” she said, “I would always prefer to have it done and over before all my evening engagements, or it should hang over me and ruin my pleasure.”

“My thinking is very much the same, in that aspect.”

She smiled.

“A likeness between us, is interesting.”

He looked away, making obvious his feeling of awkwardness.

“You have forgotten to ask how I am this evening, sir,” she said.

“Your voice, and your very appearance, do all the job of informing me.”

“You will avoid all meaningless pleasantries that you can, I know.”

\“I do not think them meaningless, or I would not take care to observe for answers to them.”

“But you ought to ask me anyway, for I may be acting differently in every encounter, and you have the privilege of observing only one.”

“You cannot know whether this is my only observation.”

“Why, now that you have revealed your intention of observing me for the evening, I will most certainly act in every possible humor and manner, that by the end of the night you are thoroughly confused as to my true spirits, and will have no other choice but to ask me about them.”

“While you are among those you delight in,” he said, “You are incapable of behaving so much by design. Your ardent wish to please and be pleased by them will make you forget what you have promised to do concerning me.”

She was a little put out, unable to determine in his flat expression whether he was teasing in the same manner as her.

“Too true. I will shortly forget my promise and forget you.”

She walked away.

At dinner the daughters had the rare delight of sitting by their father. To the others, the Hinatas appeared to harbor more protection around them than was usual, not due to any particularly intimidating factor about Keishin, but to his presence alone. Koushi and Tadashi were very comfortable in it, and Kageyama, who sat to the eldest’s right, could be spoken to without fear of encouraging him too much. The whole party was witness to the esteem which all three daughters held for their father, and which they expressed by the most charming means possible, guessing at what dishes he liked best, teasing him for being out without his wife and falling into the crowd of young singles, and managing in every topic of conversation to make allusions to his favorite authors. Keishin smiled only for them, and did not forget his purpose in coming, even when after dinner his oldest and dearest friends engaged him in conversation.

After a short while of conversing with Tanaka and Narita, Shoyo joined Kageyama at his lonely table. It was to the credit of her modesty that she did not notice him sit up straighter, and lower his eyelids carefully.

“Though you work so far off, sir, you seem to have little trouble in attending a fair number of engagements in the country, no matter the day.”

“I have been fortunate enough to be available at the requested times, but I daresay it will not always be so.”

“Does your line of work have a busy season?” she said. “I wondered whether there are times you visit your estate less frequently.”

“We have periods of busyness, rarely in accordance with a particular season.”

“You will forever be moving in and out of our circle.”

“Undoubtedly the distance to town does not seem so far to me as it does to you,” he said. “When I am obliged to go, I do not consider myself as moving out of one circle and into another.”

“Perhaps because,” she smirked, “You have no definite circle in either place.”

He made no answer, and she scolded herself a little. Perhaps he really was not privy to her way of teasing, and she was continually giving offense. It was an unpleasant thought, that was luckily chased away by the admission of Hitoka and her brother to their table.

“Did you leave Sir Ennoshita well?” said Kinoshita. “Though I am aware you cannot see him as frequently as before, with his recent transfer.”

The two girls blushed; unfortunately, Sir Kinoshita did not know the awkwardness of such a subject, being aware only that Shoyo had pardoned Ennoshita of any blame and freed all others to do the same.

“He is well enough, to my knowledge,” Kageyama said.

“Has he made a favorable impression at his new place?”

“I do not doubt it, but have not heard it yet confirmed.”

“Does he intend to make more visits to the country this coming summer?”

“I have no particular knowledge on that subject either. When he stayed with me last, he expressed a concern that he was too often intruding on my kindness, but if he wishes to come again he will have little trouble in securing other lodgings.”

“We are not to believe that anything you said to him raised concern that he was becoming a burden to you,” said Shoyo, unable to help herself.

“I did not endeavor to do such damage,” he answered, “But now that we stay in different parts of town, and busy ourselves about different cases and affairs entirely, I must report the acquaintance has consequently weakened, not in regards, but in absence of commonality.”

“Oh, I am sorry to hear as much.”

“But such is the way with us,” said Kinoshita. “It has been proven time and again that we rely more heavily on proximity than most would willingly admit.”

Shoyo could not help suspecting that, in addition to the loss of physical closeness, something of the affair with the letters might have raised, at least in Kageyama, a wish to be less closely connected to the one who mistakenly received those attentions which he had hoped in for himself. It must cause, if not a great pain, a mild irritation.

“Might I ask if you have ever had the privilege of seeing your friend in love?” said Kinoshita.

This was said with the aim of gratifying his two sisters, who could hardly have asked it so plainly without being viewed as desperate gossips. They were indeed very interested to know as much.

“I have not had the misfortune,” was Kageyama’s answer.

“The misfortune,” Kinoshita cried. “Upon my word, _I_ must have been at every meeting here in Karasuno, a most unbearable addition to your engagements. You should have revealed sooner such a disgust for those in love, for Kazuhito and I certainly would have spared you.”

“You are not lovers of the kind which are distasteful to me. Your behavior is as upstanding and guided by good sense and manners as anybody’s. This cannot be said of all young people in love.”

“I fancy, however, that you would have disliked us exceedingly, had you met us just at the time when the mutual attachment was revealed. The ladies present may attest to the kinds of raptures you would have been subjected to.”

“Oh no,” said Shoyo, “No one, not even Sir Kageyama, could have felt anything other than delight and pride over you at that time. I have only the fondest memories of it. You had such a happy energy about you as bewitched us young girls. You were more talkative than usual, but no less pleasant. And between you and your parents there was such an endearment, they were so gratified in you, and you in them. Was it not so, Hitoka?”

“I could not be happier in my own engagement, than I was about my brother’s.”

“That will certainly prove untrue, Hitoka, you may depend upon it,” said her brother. “As for Sir Kageyama, if it is not your friend you have observed, which lover is the cause of such marked dislike for the practice of love making?”

“While at school I often witnessed those most blatant flirtations and poetics which embarrass and irritate the nerves of all in the vicinity. To make matters worse, the majority of these displays were enacted prematurely, and the attachment amounted to nothing in the end.”

“School boys and girls are bound to be foolish, to be very feeling and little thinking, when the latter is required of them so much in their studies,” said Kinoshita. “I hardly blame them, and you should not take it so much to heart, Kageyama.”

“I consider it a mark of good breeding,” said he, “That one keeps their head and maintains duty to propriety, while in love.”

The speech struck her. This must be the reason for his acting so little disposed toward her, all the while that an attachment had been forming, and even as the very letters of regard were being sent. He must be as good an actor as she had thought Ennoshita, except that he did not consider it acting, but a respectable display of restraint. Now that the affair had been brought to her mind, it was necessary to take leave of him for a while. She would attend to other guests who probably expected more of her.

When she did return to the table, he had been just left alone at it.

“I must beseech you to tell me a few particulars about yourself, Sir Kageyama. I have never gone so long knowing so little of a Karasuno acquaintance.”

His attention shifted more directly to her.

“What kind of particulars are you seeking?”

“Will you tell me of your character?”

“I will not dare. I fear too much your power of disproving what I would say.”

He looked immediately embarrassed after this, but Shoyo laughed.

“Your family, then,” she said. “You must know that I am very fond of sisters. Is yours younger or older?”

“Two years my elder.”

“I am glad to hear it, an elder sister suits you perfectly.”

“How so?”

“Just so. I understand that she is not married?”

“Decidedly single.”

“Oh, is she in the habit of refusing many suitors?”

“She takes few opportunities to meet potential suitors. She is a prolific reader, as well as designer of furniture and of gowns.”

“Why, how delightful! She has your sharpness of mind, I daresay.”

“She is very equal in intelligence to anyone I have met with, at school or otherwise.”

“And is she considered by the village to be handsome?”

“She is.”

“Then it is no wonder at her being single,” said Shoyo. “Surely there is no one in so small a village with the capacity to appreciate her mind and accomplishments, while there is also so much of wealth and beauty.”

“That has always been my opinion,” he said, “But I am hardly to be considered impartial.”

“You must pardon my asking, for I am sure you have the question put to you constantly, but does she know your friend?”

“She has been acquainted nearly as long as myself.”

“But there is no particular favor on either side?”

“They admire each other a great deal, and I suspect something might have come of it, except that my mother has a chronic illness, and my sister a determined devotion to her company. Ennoshita has always been respectful of the arrangement.”

“Oh my! Does your mother suffer quite terribly?”

“As of now she is only in persistent discomfort, but those in charge of her care suspect the illness is of the degenerative type.”

“So her discomfort will worsen. I am sorry to hear this of her health, but the gift of having such children must be felt all the greater for it. She must be very fond and very proud of a daughter so accomplished and dutiful, and a son gifted in mind and well-respected in his profession. If I were your mother, I should not be able to contain myself about such children.”

“If you were our mother,” he said, with the smallest smile, “I suspect we would be quite different children than we have proved to be.”

“Why, to be sure, for I have no complaint of your sister, but I would most certainly see to it that you improve in certain respects. Not that I mean to slight your mother, or your father for that matter. I did just say, and mean, that you are exceptionally good children to have.” She was coloring rapidly. “Of course I only meant to tease, I do not earnestly call for improvements to you, on the whole a fine acquaintance.”

“I see no use in denying that we are all in need of some improvement,” he said.

She was gratified, but spared the expression of it by Sir Tanaka joining them.

All the while, Keishin observed them from across the room. Her sisters, put at ease by his dutiful endeavor, only occasionally cast their eye on her. Kageyama and Miss Hinata were together often enough to be noteworthy, though he seemed most often to be in thought, and not looking at her with much frequency. Shoyo spoke as if in passing, with a smirking demeanor that her father could not read one way or the other. The chief of his concerns became her tendency to return to his table each time she had left it. He would not have faulted her for it, nor would her sisters have ever put him on his guard, if it were not for the fact of the man already having once damaged her, in a most unfeeling and unnecessary way.

Shoyo remained, perhaps for the first time, oblivious to her father’s gaze. At the end of the visit she bid all her ados with beautiful sincerity, except to Kageyama. As he was at the door, saying goodnight to her sisters, she slipped back out of the hall to retrieve the shawl she had purposely left behind. She wished to observe whether he would seek her out. He appeared in the doorway.

“Did you intend to be slighted by me?” he said. “I am afraid I cannot allow it, Miss Hinata. I bid you goodnight.”

He bowed. She returned it.

“You may call me Miss Shoyo. If you wish,” she said.

His expression was confused, then indiscernible. He gave a hurried nod and left the room.

 

Shoyo, if she could have made it to the peace of her room, would have been at leisure to consider the night one of absolute pleasure, and her opinion of Kageyama as rather improved. But instead of returning their goodnight wishes, her father requested that all three of his daughters follow him into the study. Her mood was soon very differently affected.

“Shoyo,” he began, “This afternoon your sisters came to your mother and I out of concern for yourself.”

She studied their apologetic faces, until he regained her attention.

“I can confirm that their concerns were well founded, based on what I observed in you this evening. Your attentions to a man who has previously injured you were marked, and very much deliberate. I am sure you do not deny this.”

She made no answer.

“However, these same attentions could not be described as pleasing, and though I admit I heard none of the particulars in your speeches to him, I did not see in your manners anything like grace or easy humor.”

She was affected by that word “grace.”

“Why, Father, I can assure you that I was in no way attempting to—”

“Please pay me the respect of hearing my full appraisal.”

She was silent, nearly in tears already, though he spoke with utter composure.

“I wish to make known to you the seriousness with which those who love you consider your behavior concerning this man. You know perfectly well that any attempt to dishonor him more than he has done in his own conduct would bring your respectability, and that of your family, lower. I do not believe either that I need to impress on you the healing value of true forgiveness, though you need not form any particular like thereafter. But what I wish to tell you, my daughter, is that if you are toying with this man, whether through constant reminders of his offenses, or determined flirtation, or a pattern of the two, the only thing you will achieve by it is a poorer image of your character in the eyes of the neighborhood. Sir Kageyama can have no further esteem for the woman he claimed to have admired, and your own sisters cannot be as wont to pity you, if such is your conduct.”

Her sisters were in horror, thinking that he had much misunderstood themselves, and much misread their sister’s behavior. Shoyo was grieved, but also angered, and would defend herself.

“Dear Father, I have done nothing but maintain my manners to the best of my abilities, having been so thoroughly disconcerted and confused with myself and with that man. I know I have made mistakes, but I have repented them all, and I must ask of you whether you do not think I have any right to be in some moments uncivil, and in some decidedly angry with him? I am no angel, and would be much vexed to hear that you expect such perfection of me.”

Her father was not unmoved by her tears, but they reminded him of others shed over this man they spoke of, and he could not help but try again to advise her.

“Shoyo, I wish you to acknowledge the inconsistency in your behaviors. I am told you would talk eagerly with the man, invite him to attend you to acquaintances, but when I observed you tonight you looked often coy, often triumphant. I do not like to see such things in you, but if your attitude toward him was fixed, I would have no cause to distress, as over your baiting him, only to check him in the next moment.”

“That is not in the least by design, if it is what you have observed. I am inconsistent because I feel inconsistently.”

She was mortified less at his accusations, than at her own behavior, and the possibility that it had indeed been reflecting poorly on her family. But she turned this mortification into irritation with him.

“How can you be so unjust as to lecture me after only four hours of observation? You can have no idea what our other meetings have been like, and more than that, you can have no idea of my anxiety in all of it, as you do not take the time to ask me how I feel. You wish me to recover as quickly as possible, with as little inconvenience to the family as is possible, but how am I to achieve such a recovery when you will not help me when I am confused and want advice?”

“Shoyo, you know that I must follow such a speech with the insistence that we are at every moment available, each in total confidence. Of the others I do not know, but of me you have never attempted to seek council or relate grievances. Do not then accuse me of hindering your recovery, of wishing so callously that you might only mend your heart and be on with it.”

“Then tell me how I am to behave,” she cried. “What in my manner would best please you, dear Father? Am I to be sullen and silent at the mention of his name, and refuse to go anywhere, in effect everywhere, that he might appear? If I cannot mock him, ought I to be perfectly sweet and doting? Tell me what will be most soothing to your own feelings, without bothering about mine.”

“There is nothing whatever in your accusations of my lack of regard for your feelings and happiness,” he said, now in some anger. “I am nothing if not concerned for your well-being and the promise of your future, and behavior akin to what I saw tonight will not attract anyone of value, when or if you should decide that you can condescend to take a husband. Certainly a man of Kageyama’s stature, and of any better character, would be nothing but ashamed of your acquaintance.”

He was immediately sorry, but knew she would not wait for an apology. He must hear all the indignation that such a slight of his beloved daughter deserved.

“If you were so very ashamed, I wonder at your not taking the trouble to join me at the table and counter all my attempts at conversation, or even to remove me from the house altogether. Surely such a scene would have been desirable to sharing the room with a most disgraceful daughter. By your estimation I am very worthy of Kageyama, the man so black-souled in your eyes, and I suppose you need not worry anymore about my behavior toward him, except in hoping that it be scandalous and dishonest enough to secure his regard. Of him, if my forgiveness is required, that by no means calls for yours being equal, so why do you not hold him accountable? He agrees to dance with me, he encourages my attempts at conversation, he endeavors specifically to be where I am, yet I am the only one to be chastised for inconsistency, when his last letter promised an absolute end to the attachment. He has often been at fault, and I know that I have too, but you must know that my love for you could never grow so small that I would cease to consider at any moment how my behavior will reflect on you.”

She ran out of the room, almost colliding with the mother who had gotten out of bed and hastened to the source of the noise. Her sisters followed her upstairs, and left Keishin to repent all to his wife.

Koushi and Tadashi waited above an hour, until the servant could return from their sister’s door with the report that she had gone silent in her crying. She wanted to see them and receive their embraces, and was even willing to speak a little.

“I have abused my father, without cause. What a wretched daughter I proved in every way to be, if not at dinner, then following.”

“All is forgiven, of this you can be certain,” said Koushi, rubbing her shoulder.

“It is all our doing, Shoyo,” said Tadashi, “For we put to him the task of observing you, and brought you both pain. Do you resent our concern?”

“No, of course not. You have every right to be concerned, as when you inquired, I was never able to give a good account of my behavior. Even now, after an evening which went tolerably well where he is concerned, I cannot make out any of what I feel.”

“Shoyo, I am so sorry that we can offer no help,” said Koushi.

“I do not fault you for it.”

“Did you find him agreeable, when you were in conversation?” said Tadashi.

“I still hesitate to say agreeable. He was mostly serious, but sincere, too.”

“You begin to understand his manners better, perhaps,” said the eldest.

“I believe so.”

“Do you think his feelings might retain something of their fondness? I daresay he showed as much partiality for you tonight as he ever has.”

“I ought not to trouble about his feelings anymore, while mine are so unintelligible to me, that much I have learned.”

“Well, then, of yourself we might as well ask, do you have any feelings of regard for him, above those of the other young men of your acquaintance?”

“I do, but I fear he is only distinguished in my feelings because he wrote in praise of me.”

“I might offer you a somewhat different question.”

“Do, my dear Tadashi.”

“If you had no choice but to marry him, do you think you could stand to devote yourself to the marriage?”

She was long in considering, and quiet in her answer.

“I do not know what I would be capable of.”

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't help reading your comments over and over ｡◕‿‿◕｡ and kudos do not go unappreciated! Such fun we're having!

Unfortunately, the next news she received of Kageyama was that he had returned to town for an estimated period of two weeks. Shoyo wanted more encounters with him, in order to gauge her feelings, but these were not to be had. She received word as she was dressing in the morning, and this disappointment added to her dreary prospects for the day, as at some point she must reconcile with her father.

It had been so long since she really quarreled with him, that she had forgotten the ease with which he could forgive, and the straightforwardness which made him simple in his execution of everything concerning the upbringing of his children. When he was not to be seen at breakfast, she went into the study, her eyes still and sad at him.

“Can I entreat you to come here to me, my dear?”

“Oh yes.”

She approached his chair, from which he stood up. When he put out his hand, she offered hers, and he grasped it between his.

“I know not what to say. I said far too much last night.”

She could not reply, and looked steadily at their hands.

“If you wish to speak to your mother and I, of anything that has passed, we will hear you in the course of the morning.”

She shook her head. He put one hand on her shoulder, and she looked up to see that his mouth was done speaking. She was not equal to a smile, but her eyes thanked him. They were the same eyes he had looked upon these 21 years, and he was most relieved to see even yet no mistrust in them.

When she had gone, he said:

“I despise young men. Glad am I that I am no longer one of them.”

 

In the first week of Kageyama’s absence, Shoyo was surprised at how often she found herself in consideration of the absent man. After a few days of fighting off the inclination, she finally surrendered to it and determined to make out his character, from what evidence she had so far been exposed to.

There was of course the dishonor in his letter writing. But he had not put his confession into a letter, that was something. He had subjected himself to all her wrath, though he likely had not expected it to be so great, had made the choice to look her in the eyes as he gave a communication that devastated her. It required courage, especially in one so proud, for he must have a heightened fear of humiliation, and humiliation had undoubtedly been the result of her attack on him. She half wished he had written instead, and not witnessed the pinnacle of her fury.

She was certain that he was proud. He had as good a right as nearly anybody to be so, she supposed, and it might not be so insufferable a trait if it was not accompanied by the apparent reserve of his manners. He had not Hitoka’s sweet shyness. He was decisive in his speech, curt in his civilities, and unwilling to provide information which did not relate directly to the point. Yet, she had found reasonable pleasure in their last conversation. He had even smiled at her once, and she was not above admitting it touched all her vanities, that he would grace her with something so rare.

He was not charming, not at all. There was too much stateliness even in his good appearance, and too little ease in his address. The charm his friend had so impressed her with was the thing she had always expected to stir in her the first inklings of an attachment. Of that which had made her so eager to forward the acquaintance with his friend, no trace could be found in Kageyama’s person. She could recall a few times that his manners had faltered when he was especially irritated, but that was a natural human defect, and as intelligent as he was, his manners could not fail to be proper in every circumstance except those which involved his deepest feelings. Her own criticisms aside, she had never heard him charged with anything offensive or unjust; her own sisters had given him the most censure, but only where it concerned the letters. Outside of them, the most her relations had ever accused him of was reserve. Sir Kinoshita, of whose sense she thought quite highly, had always maintained a positive appraisal of him as a man of propriety and morality. Ennoshita had insisted the same.

What worked perhaps the most good for her opinion of him was that in spite of the manner in which he had been rejected by her, he had not afterwards treated her with contempt. Her own determination to sustain the acquaintance had probably encouraged him in the direction of civility, but even during her fits of rather merciless taunting, he had shown no inclination to expose her to his ill-will. That proved a strength in him, a strength which seemed to permeate all his qualities, those she fancied and those she held in less esteem.

This was all she could make of him, and no part of it without uncertainties.

 

At breakfast on the first day of his second absent week, Shoyo’s sisters were fidgeting as much as she herself. Their parents were rather hard to discompose, and such a trifle would not do it. They did not ask for an explanation, but soon enough it came anyway.

“Shoyo,” said Koushi.

“Yes dear.”

“When we were in the village yesterday without you, we happened to have a piece of news passed to us, that might be of interest to you, as much as anyone.”

“Do tell.”

“Supposedly, a certain gentleman of our acquaintance has recently become the subject of gossip in town. Sir Kageyama is seeing a woman there.”

“Seeing his sister?” she said. “I did not think, considering their mother’s health, that his sister would come to town. He would surely go to them.”

“Yes, he surely would, and this woman is not his sister. A woman who, by his attentions to, he must hope to win the affections, and then the hand of.”

Shoyo stared. Her parents stared. Tadashi looked hard at her plate.

“Oh.”

She was quiet for a longer moment.

“I wish that he might have good fortune in his pursuit.”

She said nothing else. As the meal continued, she was surprised at herself for not betraying all her shock, for she certainly felt it. Kageyama could do no such thing as pay attentions. He had written her letters, but never paid her attentions, and furthermore in their last conversation had expressed his disdain for the way it was commonly done, and would this man be undertaking a distinctly flirtatious intercourse with some woman in town? She could little imagine it. She wished to ask her sister whether she could be at all dependent on the source she had this news from, but she did not ask, knowing they would assume he must have been a favorite with her, and she did not need such assumptions surrounding her in her own home.

He could not be a favorite now, at any rate.

That afternoon she tried to read for a while, but failing in her attention to the book, she changed rooms and sought conversation with her mother and younger sister.

“They say that trains will be back in this fall,” said their mother.

“Do not bother to order me any new dresses for that season, Mother,” said Shoyo. “You know how I detest long trains.”

“I know too how poor an investment it would be, for you could not keep them nice even if they were the dearest possession in the world to you.”

“I think I might prefer them,” said Tadashi. “At least, I will like to try them. I was not out yet, the last time it was in fashion.”

“Undoubtedly you will like them,” said her sister, “And undoubtedly I will like them on you, because you are so tall. I wonder how it is that _they_ go about deciding what will come into vogue, and a whole season in advance. Kageyama’s sister is a designer of gowns, he informed me. I wonder if they have a circle meeting where they agree on the kind of designs they will make, and agree that the rest of the world’s ladies will like them.”

She froze, having been caught in the mention of his name. Her mother was giving a curious look, while Tadashi would not raise her eyes at all.

“All I know is that fashion takes none of my wishes into account,” Shoyo finished. She stood up. “Tadashi, will you walk to the Michimiya’s oaks with me?”

“I have a letter I ought to write,” her sister said. “And it is rather hot just now.”

“Oh, then perhaps in the evening. Good luck with the letter.”

Shoyo and her parasol were off to the oaks.

She felt queer and restless, and the heat was doing nothing in service to her. The rumor of Kageyama become smitten with a woman in town could be only that, a rumor. After her character sketch, she could not think so little of him. Then she had to scold herself, for where could be the wrong in Kageyama, after receiving her decided rejection, beginning a new quest elsewhere? There could be nothing little in anyone but herself, if she were to now be jealous of the successor to his preference!

It was perfectly sensible, and she highly suspected that he prided himself on being perfectly sensible. She remembered that she had, somewhere in the torrent of her fuming speech, told him she would be ashamed to call him her husband. (To heaven that this particular sentence was never repeated to her family, who must think so much less of her good heart, and so much more of her short temper.) What was he to do with such a sentiment? Take it, in perfect composure, to heart, and feel all the according shame and distress of having the woman he fancied so abhor him? A feat of saintly, of angelic proportions! Kageyama, in all his pride and self-consequence, would have disdained away any last fond feeling for her, and gone in search of someone with the appropriate degree of appreciation for such a great man’s affections. Apparently his search had been successful, as it were.

Shoyo ran the last hundred yards to the trees, and collapsed under their shade. Thankfully she had only been embarrassed by her accidental mention of the man’s name; in front of her father or her older sister, it would have been nothing short of mortifying. And what was she doing now, sweating and out of breath, staring through the leaves held so far above, still in pains over the man who had written to, humiliated, and now moved on from her?

 

Since her dance with him, she had not dared to reread his letters, lest their contents throw her into that obliviously vulnerable state that they had at first, and now with the man before her and acting with the utmost civility, she do something foolish with her feelings. That night, when she had tried for an hour to sleep, she did take them out again. Their effect was strong.

It was strong enough to be noticed the next day, and the day following, and the one after that. Shoyo tried to hide it, but in hiding, her quietness was even more distinct. Her family could tell, easily enough, that her spirit was weighed down. Narita came for tea, and asked whether Miss Hinata had been taken ill. Hitoka dared not ask, but thought it probable enough that she sent her a get well note, which her sisters, not wishing her to be shamed in addition to her dejection, kept from her. While she had visitors, she could hardly bear through the dread of the news being mentioned. It had not come up as of the fourth day after the initial, and she was grateful.

Every night she read over the letters, and if anyone could have seen her in these moments, they might have gone so far as to describe her as despairing. She longed for more to be written to her. This had been her first reception of praise of this special, intimate kind, and it still, had always, held her endearment for that. Everything to do with their writer had distressed and disgusted her beyond what she had ever experienced firsthand, but the letters themselves had given her nothing but a very unbothered happiness.

She had disliked him, at certain times, on certain days. But at other times there had been something close to gratification, for his admiration, his attention to small things about her, the modesty in all his expressions which she felt came from a sure respect. She knew now, at the very least, that she was disappointed to lose her high standing.

The acknowledgement of this brought on, in the next few days, a reconsideration of their history, and his character. Even the baser facts had their effect, and she felt all the frustration of losing the esteem of a man of considerable beauty, wealth, and intelligence. More deeply still she mourned over that which whispered to her through the letters, and through the recollection of their last conversation: she could have been happy with him.

 

It was on the sixth night of such thoughts keeping her awake, that her sisters peeked at her, and seeing several burning candles, came to her bed. She only allowed them to sit down before she sighed and burst out:

“I know that you are both perfectly clever and cannot be at a loss as to why I am awake, so I beg you not to ask the questions.”

Her sisters looked at one another. A smile spread over the elder’s face, and a grimace soured the younger’s. Shoyo frowned.

“In few words you have satisfied us,” said Koushi. “And now we will tell you what it has almost killed us not to before. Tadashi, especially, has been suffering, but luckily you were too put out to notice.”

“Shoyo, if you intend to be angry, you should know that it was first and foremost your elder sister’s idea,” Tadashi said. “But please if you can, do not be angry, at least not once we meet at breakfast.”

Shoyo had thrown the sheets out of her lap and sat up straighter, scowling and huffing through her nose at them.

“I readily admit that the idea occurred to me, and me alone,” said Koushi. She then lost her smile. “I told you, my dear sister, that Kageyama was playing suitor to a girl in town. In that, I told you a lie.”

“Then who is he playing suitor to?” she cried. “To one of you? I must tell you that half of my heart will disappear, but the other half will certainly be happy for you, as best it can!”

Koushi laughed, but only a little.

“It is not to one of us. The mystery woman is entirely of my imagination. Since he was not here for you to make a proof of, Shoyo, what were we to do? We had to help you in any way we could, to give you a means of establishing your feelings.”

“We did not _have_ to,” said Tadashi, “And I very much disapproved of such a means, though I did want your confusion to end. Now I wait to see whether I should have put up more of a fight against her.”

“Yes, we must know now if you are angry with us, for setting such a trap.”

“Of course I am not angry,” she cried, “But I hardly know what I am. Why, yes, I am angry, angry that such a simple ploy would work on me!”

Her smile was wide and unhindered, and her sisters felt the weight lifted from their chests. Shoyo hopped to her feet and off the bed.

“But my dear sisters,” she said, “Was it too much to ask that you might let me know a day or two sooner?”

“Tadashi tried her very best to do so, but I kept her under careful watch.”

“I might have been sure three days ago, if you would have told me,” said Shoyo.

“We had no way of knowing, we wanted to be sure there was time enough. Do forgive us.”

“Forgive you of course, so long as you will listen when I tell you how much I like him.”

“Oh! You do, very truly?” said Tadashi. “For what he is, you like him?”

“I like him prodigiously, and now you tell me that there is no reason to believe he is fond of anyone else, so what am I to do, sisters, what am I to do but be pleased!”

“My wonder, my delight of a sister,” said Koushi, “How I wanted you to like him. I could not bear that such praise of you would go to waste, that all its comfort and pleasure to you be thrown away. I so wished you would like him, if you could.”

“So did I, for I am almost afraid of him,” said Tadashi, “And you have no fear at all, you have so wholly proven your equality to one who by everyone’s estimation is so respectable a person, and I could not be more proud of you.”

“Do not talk just yet of your pride,” said Shoyo, “For I will not be allowed any for quite some time. You do not know the half of how horrible I have been to him, how truly horrible. You do not know that we met in the village, very few days after he revealed himself, and that I told him he had been very unkind to me—”

“Shoyo how could you not tell us!”

“I know his letters by heart, even the apology, and it is unbearably painful to read how he would end his attachment, when with all the previous he has put himself so much in my favor.”

“That is unbearable indeed, and let us not talk of it,” said Tadashi.

“I cannot believe that it just might be possible now, to—to have—But I cannot make amends to you for how clever you were, and how vital it was in making me understand! My sisters, you would do all for me, I hurt to see it now so plainly.”

“No talk of hurting,” said Koushi. “You must without any delay tell us exactly what you think of him, how your thinking changed, and everything.”

For a moment Shoyo beamed in silence, quite at a loss for where to begin, as she did not even know where she had begun herself. In the silence the floor creaked across the room, and they looked up to see Miss Yaku, drowsy but intent on them.

“Are the Miss Hinatas well?”

“Oh yes, quite well,” said Koushi.

“We apologize, miss,” Shoyo said, quietly. “For waking you, and alarming you.”

“That is nothing, if the three of you are to be found safe.”

She made to close the door, but paused with it in her hand.

“If I might ask without impertinence, is it a young gentleman who excites so much?”

They all flushed, and could not answer but with smiles. The servant smiled as she shut the door.


	11. Chapter 11

They stayed up quite late, but without formulating any idea of what to do now, as Shoyo became the pursuer. The parents knew not what made their daughters rebound from depression to an even higher than usual cheer at breakfast, but were satisfied without asking. The girls talked of going to see the Kinoshitas, then perhaps Miss Takeda. Shoyo talked more than she ate, and was alone with her parents at the table for several extra minutes. When she did finally leave it, she was met by Miss Watari in the hall, and handed a letter.

The handwriting of the address was unmistakable. She all but screamed, and in the breakfast room a glass was knocked off the table. Her father hurried out to her.

“Father, I am sorry to frighten you, I have received a letter and I will go upstairs now to read it with my sisters.”

They were waiting at the landing for her, and parroted her exclamations as she flew to her room and lunged for the letter opener on her desk.

_Dear Miss Shoyo,_

_For the last half a day I have been in agonies as to whether I am justified in writing such as I am about to write, but I have resolved to send it off before I can again think oppositely about it. You may, or as easily may not, have heard in the air at Karasuno a certain piece of supposed news concerning myself as the principle party. Its subject is as follows: that I, by some unknown person’s account, have begun to pay my attentions to another woman. It is odd that this rumor, though it would be taking place in town, seems to have originated in Karasuno, and made its way into town. I cannot understand it, but this is not the pressing matter at hand. Here I proceed with the most caution I can manage, in this fit of irritation, to inform you that there is no other woman in existence, and no woman’s name which I acknowledge above your own name. Taking into consideration only my own opinions and conjectures, none of others, and considering also the behaviors of you and I, in effect considering only the discourse in speech and manner of us two persons, I have been, not so presumptuously as I undoubtedly sound, under the impression that I was making reasonable effort to pay you attentions of regard, and that I was observing them to be reasonably well received. I here shed all hesitation in referring to my own behavior and admit that I have certainly retained the wish of engaging your feelings. Having explained myself, I can only wait until we meet again, when your behavior will provide me with the grounds for how I am to act henceforth._

_Sincerely,_

_Kageyama Tobio_

She looked at Koushi. She looked at Tadashi. Then she let out a peel of laughter, one of her silliest and most adorable to date, and began to dance around the room.

“Oh my word! Heavens! It is a good thing only my own house should see me at the first moment.”

“Shoyo but he likes you!”

Tadashi linked arms with her and they skipped a circle.

“He knows me rather too well, he knows just what to say in order to affect me,” Shoyo cried, “But I do not, cannot care, for he likes me, and all this time has still liked me!”

“I highly suspect,” said Koushi, “That rather he is in love.”

To this the other two screamed and giggled. Koushi took Shoyo’s other elbow, and they danced some more.

“But oh, I must share the news, has it stopped raining entirely?”

Miss Watari confirmed it.

“I must go to Hitoka, for I would spare her every second of worry on my behalf that I may.”

Her sisters protested that she should go so soon, when they had hardly gone through their raptures to her yet, but they could not deny that their sister outside the house should know of it too, at the earliest possible moment, and from Shoyo herself.

“Please tell our mother and father of my happiness,” she said to her sisters, “For I cannot meet them before some exercise, or I should never overcome my shame. I will be back very shortly to see them.”

Before her parents knew what she meant to do, she had already set off down the driveway to the main road.

Once she reached it and found it empty, she broke into a run. But she had not gone half the distance before she heard horses behind her. She stopped and shrunk to the edge of the road, embarrassed, and a little afraid of being alone. The carriage passed, and she started to walk in the same direction.

The carriage came to a stop. The moment she noticed, she prepared to flee back home. She had walked this road perhaps a thousand times to visit her friends, and the rare vehicle she would see was a recognizable one. Now she was on the verge of real fright. A man stepped out of the cab.

Her lips parted in a silent gasp. He was not far away and had already made eye contact with her. She did not know if it was a comfort, or a vexation, that Kageyama looked as astonished as herself.

“Miss Shoyo.”

She came when called, but as she walked toward him, she concluded that this was nothing short of dreadful. She had not changed out of her house dress, and its bottom hem was sopping wet and splattered all around with mud. Her hair had not been touched since she woke. She felt the flush of exercise in her whole face, and her chest was necessarily heaving. She was standing before a man she wanted to approve of her, looking utterly unlike a wife anyone would want to have.

Kageyama bowed to her. She was too shocked, and too ashamed, to return it. He spoke.

“May I give you a ride? To wherever it is you are going.”

Even more shocked at his speaking to her, Shoyo could only look at the seriousness in his handsome face, trying to find what he must be hiding, disgust or disdain. He, like her, had not overcome his surprise, and he seemed to be growing more uncertain. She realized then that she had been doing nothing but stare at him, and also that she was holding the letter in her hands. She still doubted her ability to speak. Thankfully the silence was broken by the sound of another carriage’s approach. Kageyama looked down the road, then looked back at her.

“I would be much obliged to you,” she said.

After another moment he stepped aside, and she approached the carriage. He handed her in.

“To the Kinoshita’s, if you please.”

Kageyama went to tell the driver. Then he entered the carriage, which seated only two, and sat unavoidably near her. Soon they were turning down the lane to the house, but it seemed to Shoyo a slower pace than usual. She huddled near the door, attempting to tuck her feet beneath the seat to hide some of her dirty hem. She could not bear to look away from the window. His voice made her freeze.

“I sent a letter,” he said, “A day ago. Have you by chance received it?”

She turned. He was looking as steadily out his window. She looked down, and let out a laugh. This turned his head. She held out the letter, smiling in spite of herself. The sight of it visibly alarmed him.

“Would you like to know what I thought of it?” she said.

He colored, and it pleased all her feelings, but what he said next was less than pleasing.

“I suppose if you wish to tell me.”

“Why, if you are only to listen begrudgingly, I have not the slightest wish of telling you.”

With that, she opened her door and hopped out of the moving carriage. Her knees buckled under her and she fell, but she was up again quickly. Kageyama had already jumped out after her. He called to the driver, then turned, and his glare provoked her.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“I was going to show my letter to my friend, but you may have it back!”

She brandished it at him, and he snatched it from her.

“You are so determined to flare up at me,” he said. “Have you hurt yourself?”

“If I did not know how to do as much without hurting myself, I would not do it.”

He equaled her scowl.

“You were going to speak to your friend.” He held out the letter. “What was it you were going to say?”

She took the letter, looking earnest, then sighed, and began.

“I was coming to tell her, or rather to show, all my excitement at receiving this letter, which told me that in some way or another I have been courting a man I find worthy of my esteem, this opinion of him being a relatively new idea, since the birth of a rumor pledging him to someone else has caused me to realize I have been, perhaps all along, in hopes and wishes of securing his regard. But then I chance to meet you at the most inopportune moment, when I am all but dressed in dirt, my hair untamed, and panting as if I were not a lady but a horse! And to all this,” she said, “I must add what I feel an obligation to tell you, which is that I discovered yesterday the rumor of your seeing a woman in town was put out by my own sisters, not in effort to harm your reputation, but to teach me how I felt. Though they meant no harm I must still be sorry for their lie, and of how I am presenting now, and from this explanation you should have some understanding of my distress over the likelihood that your opinion of me and my relations is rapidly changing into one of never wishing to associate with us again, and being now very much ashamed of the woman you wrote such a letter to.”

He was quiet, and she kept her eyes down.

“If I were ashamed,” he said, “I would not have stopped near you. I would rather have sped up my driver, and hidden from the window.”

Her eyes were wide to his honesty.

“Your sisters did me an unkindness. But since it caused me to write a letter which pleased you, I cannot be ungrateful to them.”

To break the silence, she said:

“Your prediction was correct, in that the sentiments of the original letters I was still able to appreciate, although the face associated with them had changed. As I went over them again—”

“Went over them again! You truly found it within you the heart to—Forgive me, I am sorry for the interruption. Please do continue, I assure you of all my attention.”

She found his apology off-putting, and shook her head to clear it.

“As I went over them again it was apparent to me that such compliments and attentions were ones that in most people would cause a wonderful…I do not know exactly what to call it, but in myself it was like a blooming of the heart, brought on by such pure delight, and fun, and I was alarmed that in acting out so rashly in my initial injury I had banished the possibility of receiving anymore such delight, and thereafter found myself with a rather distinct wish that I had not rejected the person who would take such pains to give me the very nice feelings I remember it did.”

In the quiet, her brown eyes were loud at him.

“This brings me, then, to my ultimate question of you, which is, are the feelings which caused you to write so pleasingly, are they still alive and well?”

“There was a time,” he said, “When they were buried under much darker feelings, resentments…But they were alive always, and now, well.”

“Yes, truly?”

He could not meet her gaze, but nodded once. The next moment he steeled himself and his eyes came with quickness to hers.

“Miss Shoyo. May I ask your parents’ permission to court their daughter with the purpose of marriage?”

“You may ask them.”

They looked at each other. Then suddenly she took off running for her neighbor’s house. She called over her shoulder:

“I will be back in one moment.”

The footman was Mr. Aone, who had known her since she was a child.

“Is Miss Hitoka at home, sir?”

He nodded. Shoyo could hardly bear it as she waiting there in the hall. Hitoka came, and her surprise at Shoyo’s smile was more fitting for if she had come in mourning clothes.

“My dear Miss Shoyo, what has happened?”

“My dear wonderful friend, I got a letter this morning, and its contents pleased me very much, but not so much as the meeting I had on the way here, with the very young man who wrote to me, today, and all that time ago.”

“You met with Sir Kageyama?” she stuttered.

“And can you guess what came of this meeting?”

“I will not attempt it, so do tell!”

“He says that he wishes to court me. I said that I wished the same. Because my dear it has been not long at all since I decided that this very thing would make me happier than any other advance by any other person.”

Her friend could only squeak out congratulations, until Shoyo hugged her, and pressing their cheeks together, said:

“I must return to my family, and I hope that you will inform yours, and hope that your brother will not be too angry with you for keeping back all of this business. I will call on you very soon, dear! He waits for me just now in your driveway.”

She went back out under the grey sky, and he handed her again into the carriage, which headed for her home.

“Your letter,” she said, “Was put into my hand just this morning, under an hour ago. I must beg you to pardon the rudeness and shyness of my greeting earlier.”

“If you could have seen the state I was in as I wrote it, you would not beg pardon for whatever small impropriety you might have displayed.”

“This rumor of your seeing another woman had no small effect, then.”

“When the rumor reached me in the form of a question by a colleague of mine, the initial annoyance at such a lie being spread abroad was followed immediately by a concern for what your family’s opinion of me must have been sunk to upon such news. Good and upright as they all are, they would undoubtedly think themselves abominably ill-used by me, and for a second time, as it were. Therefore I am in honest shock to hear that the deceit originated from within your own circle.”

“Oh, oh, how dreadful! I hope, I beg of you, do not think the lie was told to garner more sympathy for our family. I assure you we do not glory in attention of that kind. It would certainly seem a drastic measure to someone outside ourselves, but my sisters only did as they did in order to help me understand my own feelings, and how I was to act in accord with them. For I suspect you know from our first blundering endeavor, that I am not of a kind to be much reserved with my affections. They wished to urge me into giving you the proper encouragement, which my sisters, knowing me so well, were perfectly aware I was not giving, and which they recognized that you may not be attributing so much to my lack of feeling but to a hesitation based on the calamity of our first encounter. It was for the good of both of us that they concocted such a lie, and I sincerely hope it does no lasting damage to the general opinion of you.”

“That is an insignificant fear in comparison to the one which motivated me to compose a letter. I did indeed attribute your reserve to our colorful history. If I had seen it as a lack of regard, I would not have dared to write in the manner I did.”

“That is perfectly understandable,” she said. “Having already suffered what I imagine you did after I had completely mauled your pride, you would not venture to write and once again put yourself at risk to be disgraced, unless you were quite certain of your place with me.”

“Do not say ‘certain.’ I do not deserve that word.”

“You may admit as much,” she said with a smile. “I am saying that I acknowledge the feelings and reason involved. I will not think less of your modesty for it.”

“No, I was not certain. Only sure enough that my judgement is not so bad as to mislead me to such a degree, but not sure enough, for example, to laugh at the rumor. If I had been really very certain of your attachment I would have felt no anxiety, would have seen it as a trifling thing, no cause to write at all.”

“Oh, I do see what you mean. Very true.”

They reached her home, and he was preparing to drop her off right at the edge of the lawn, when she invited him to come inside and ask her parents’ permission, while he could take advantage of the convenience.

“Surely your parents will not welcome an uninvited guest, so early in the day. It cannot do much to aid me in procuring a favorable answer,” he said.

“You are here now, and they are at home, and they are people of the kind who like to have business done early and with little inconvenience.”

“From what I understand, they are also people of the kind to welcome no guests except after prior planning.”

“You are not here for tea,” she said, “Though they might perhaps invite you to it after the fact. You are here on business, and business they must allow admission. And you give them no credit for being my parents and wishing me the happiest I can be. There will be someone in the stable to oblige your horses, if you tell him or her that you are my guest.”

With that she ran to the house.

Her sisters had been watching at a window for her return. She greeted them with:

“Hitoka was quite as well as she could be, for being so surprised. Is my father still at home?”

“No, he would go out to look at the canola,” said Koushi. “He did not say much, when we told him.”

“But he must come back immediately,” Shoyo cried, “For I met Kageyama on the road, and he intends to ask my parents for my hand.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” said Tadashi.

“Shoyo, you deceive us.”

“Indeed not, he will come in in a moment I daresay.”

“You mean to tell me that you left the house in that dress,” said Koushi, “And came back to it a woman engaged! You are some kind of witch, my sister. We will help you to change, quickly, before he—”

They heard the footman greeted in the vestibule. It was too late for changing. Kageyama was shown in to them. The sisters curtseyed. Kageyama bowed.

“We did not expect the honor,” Koushi managed to say.

“I realize that I may be felt as intruding.”

“Oh no, not at all, if it is a surprise it is a pleasant one.”

Quiet.

“We were planning a few walks today,” Tadashi offered. “Perhaps one of you could tell us how the weather is.”

“It is rather cool, for the earlier rain,” said Kageyama. “But you ought to take care about puddles.”

Shoyo flushed. He looked to her and was sorry for his mistake, though he could not find a suitable way of apologizing. During the silence, someone else entered the house. The girls heard their father’s voice.

“A man comes home at 10 o’clock to find his stalls already in use, what is the meaning of this?”

Keishin encountered them, and saw Kageyama.

“Ah. An unwelcome guest.”

“Father,” Shoyo protested.

“I am, for all intents and purposes, an invalid. No young man can have any interest in me, therefore I know the interest is in one of my daughters.”

Kageyama bowed to him.

“Yes, sir, the second of your daughters. I wish to request a conference with you, if not today, at some convenient time in the near future.”

“To heaven that we would make your trip unfruitful, and require it of you a second time. Allow me the time to find my wife, and speak privately with her.”

“Certainly.”

He left, and the sisters, knowing they would prevent any useful discourse between the two by staying, excused themselves to the toilette.

She ventured:

“Do you have an idea of what you will say?”

“I do, but my manner of saying it would benefit from any information you can give as to how your father is disposed to me.”

“He finds you perfectly respectable as a person. As a suitor, I would think his primary concern the letters. He is not well informed as to my change of opinion, so he may bear a resentment over the ordeal.”

“That is encouraging indeed.”

“He read only your first letter and your apology, that I recall,” she said. “That fact will likely work in your favor. Though perhaps I ought to have shown the rest of your praises. He does not display it, but I know he is always pleased to hear his daughters complimented.”

Kageyama was looking at her.

“Your father has read letters of mine?”

She faltered.

“I suppose I should assume then that your entire family has read them,” he said. “And your friend Hitoka has probably not been excluded.”

“I am sorry if I displeased you. It is my habit to share most things with them, and something which made me so happy, I could not help but give an explanation for.”

“I doubt that I would have been able to write at all,” he said, face heating, “If I had known the letter would be read by the lady’s father.”

“It is a testament to you that they could be read by my father, without so much as a blush. He thought them business-like, so you need not be embarrassed.”

“Speak no more of what he thought in particular of my writing.”

They heard steps, and her parents came into the vestibule, which the young people had not managed to get beyond.

“We invite you to join us in the study, sir,” said her father.

Kageyama nodded and followed them.

Shoyo was joined by her sisters and they hurried to the study door, which had been left open, undoubtedly for the purpose of affording them a listen.

“It is best,” her father began, “In such matters as involve the heart, to be as to the purpose as possible.”

Shoyo winced at her sisters; this could not be counted as a favorable beginning, with her father alluding to Kageyama’s weakest point.

“I agree,” she heard him say. “I learned as much in the most difficult way possible.”

“Accordingly, state your intentions and motivations.”

There was a pause, and she clutched her letter to her chest.

“I request permission to court Miss Hinata Shoyo, with the intention of an engagement, if the two involved parties are found to be sufficiently compatible. I am motivated to such an end by her spirited manner of conducting herself, by the ease with which she recommends herself, and by her deep attachment and devotion to her family.”

Outside the door, Koushi squeezed her sister’s hand, but Shoyo could not acknowledge her; her heart’s song had reached such a note, and she ached with the want for her parents to consent.

“There is that in the motivations you have named,” said her father, “Which might reasonably hinder your relationship with Shoyo. For example, if she is so attached to her family, will your charms and situation offer enough inducement to overcome her attachment?”

Why, how could her father take such a turn, how could he slight her so to a man fond of her!

“In the matter of her easy manners, might she invite more admiration than you as her husband would want her to receive?”

There was no answer from Kageyama.

“And of her spirit, might such a will, and such passion behind it, make domestic living difficult, rather than enhancing its enjoyment?”

Shoyo was bracing to run into the room, but Koushi caught her around the waist, and Tadashi held her arm.

“Her character might make any of these outcomes possible,” said Kageyama, “If she were connected to someone ill-suited to her. If during the courtship I find that her character appears less to advantage with me than it does with her family, I will give up the attachment, for her good and mine.”

“You have already pledged to do so once,” said Keishin. “And yet, you are here now.”

“If your daughter had shown that she truly despised me,” he answered, “I would have relinquished all my wishes. Since she did not show as much, I was determined to prove that I could act in a manner worthy of her. I believed that I could, if she should give me the chance, and she was gracious enough to do so.”

“I do not pretend to know what induced her to do so,” said her father. “I can tell you, however, that we have raised our daughters to be anything but mercenary. To Shoyo, wealth can have very little meaning, and though it might have added sufficiently to your grandeur and thus increased her consciousness in receiving attention from you, I seriously doubt that it will guarantee her faithfulness.”

Kageyama finally found himself put out, and could only stammer:

“Sir.”

“He only speaks the truth,” said her mother. “Shoyo would say the same herself, I am sure of it.”

“You will not deny that you are a great man, in terms of endowments,” said Keishin. “I wonder then at your taking notice of a country woman of modest fortune. Though we know her to be decidedly deserving, I do wonder at your thinking so, in spite of the motivations you claimed.”

“Your family, and the daughters who are most often the representatives of your family in public,” said Kageyama, “Are spoken of with the highest esteem. Throughout the process of taking possession of my property here in Karasuno, and becoming acquainted with the village’s most genteel inhabitants, I heard constantly that the Hinatas were a family anyone would do well to be closely connected with, and that their daughters were nothing short of the most amiable and good-hearted women one could meet.”

“I see. The allure of their good public standing made you determined that you, a young man with everything to offer in appearance and possessions, would succeed in marrying one of them, proving your worth where no person had before.”

Shoyo listened eagerly for his chastisement of her father, who was making both of them out to be shallow. But Kageyama only said:

“On the contrary. I must admit that pride made me at first doubt the real merit in the Miss Hinatas, and I was determined to do the very opposite, to resist their charms, where apparently no one in their part of the country had before. I scoffed at the idea of their being so truly admirable, because I knew they and their friend Miss Hitoka to be the only women of an eligible age residing in that area. To this fact I attributed all praise of them, and I came to my first public engagement with almost a certainty of finding them tolerable young women, nothing more. But the first sight was enough to throw off all my decided disinterest, for I immediately found them to be pretty, beyond doubt, and in their smiles was already assured of their agreeableness.”

“Upon my word,” said her father, “You are a shrewd man, Sir Kageyama. A man of design. You had already a design on our daughters, though an unfavorable one, before meeting them. What should we make of this?”

“I can only assure you that my pride was set completely against your daughter, and that in the course of two meetings it was far enough undone that I felt no humiliation in writing of my newfound esteem.”

“Yes, we come now to the writing.”

The daughters held their breath, and Kageyama his tongue.

“We have decided,” said her mother, “Not to attempt a full understanding of the complications which seem to have plagued your beginning together. Nevertheless, they are of concern.”

“Your request makes it obvious that you believe them to be overcome,” said her father. “What remains, then, is to ask our daughter whether her belief is the same, and of equal strength.”

Outside the study, she froze. Her mother came through the door to fetch her.

“Come inside, Shoyo.”

She handed her letter to Tadashi, then followed her mother inside. As she sat in the seat next to him, across from her parents, he looked just barely in her direction.

Her father addressed her.

“I assume you heard all that was said.”

She nodded, with a glance at Kageyama, that was not returned.

“I assume also that your vanity was touched by this man’s admission that you charmed away his determination against you. But I must warn you, my dear, that vanity is not a deeply rooted sentiment, and is touched rather more easily than most of us would wish it to be. There must be something of respect, or approval, or tenderness, that is felt more deeply, in order for the match to be sustainable.”

“Yes, I know this to be true.”

“Your father and I entreat you, Shoyo,” said her mother, “To tell us whether your like is independent, or whether you at all suspect that you only like him because he likes you.”

“My like is most independent,” said she. “I liked him most, liked him as I do now, when I thought that he had ceased to like me.”

She now felt Kageyama’s gaze directly on her, and colored a little.

“Very well,” said her father. “You are a highly developed young lady in heart and mind, Miss Shoyo. You have a sure identity as a woman, and we believe that you are ready to marry. Indeed, I have feared that it would happen much sooner, as sure of yourself as you were at sixteen.”

“We know that you will be a very good kind of wife,” said her mother.

“If your choice is prudent,” said her father. “If you have selected someone who will be always appreciative of having you, and who you can retain your appreciation for.”

She smiled, all apprehension melting from her.

“I believe that I have done so.”

“Then I may give my consent,” said her father.

“And I may give mine.”

“Thank you!”

She jumped up and ran around the table to hug them. Kageyama came behind her, shaking the hand of each as she released them. Shoyo ran out to her sisters, who hugged her and shared smiles. They checked the greater height of their delight, to do their sister honor in the presence of her prospective husband. He came out with evident embarrassment, but their manner of congratulating him, with grace yet warmth, eased him into relative comfort by the time the parents had assembled, so that he could say his goodbye. He thanked her father and mother for admission into their house, and for their consent. He bid her sisters a good day, and was grateful for their approval. Lastly he turned to Miss Shoyo, who was dismayed that her smile had fixed so widely, and that he might be silently critical of her rosy behavior. He met her eyes, and offered his hand; she put hers in it, and he pressed it as he bowed, then let go.

“I will see you again, as soon as possible,” he said.

She curtseyed.

“I wish you a pleasant afternoon and evening.”

“You do not need to wish it,” he said, for only her to hear. “It is already a certainty.”

She glowed in her being.

“Ado, Miss Shoyo.”

“Ado.”

Her parents left the entry, while the girls remained to watch him cross the path and yard to his carriage. Just as he approached the door, Shoyo ran out, and her sisters’ calling made Kageyama turn around. She made a great leapt over a puddle and stuttered to a standstill in front of him.

“Shoyo, do come back before Father has to fetch you!”

Kageyama was searching her face for what must be something important. She looked up at him, a little in awe of the mix of powerful emotions welling in her. She spoke.

“I do not want you to go, though I would see you again.”

“Perhaps,” he said, “This marks a good beginning.”

She smiled. Her father had come to the door now.

“Shoyo, come inside at once.”

Still she stood with him.

“I will look respectable the next time you see me.”

He looked away, as if not to answer, then surprised her with a smirk, that was odd on his face.

“It is more memorable when you appear this way,” he said.

“You should not tease me.”

“I would not tease a lady.”

She smiled again.

“Shoyo, you will return to this house immediately.”

Her father started down the steps.

“Goodbye,” she said.

He got into the carriage, and the horses walked away. She came to meet her father on the lawn and hugged him again. He put one arm begrudgingly around her.

He despised young men.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flirting? Fluff? There's nothing in this chapter but it's somehow long af

Her mother’s formal invitation to family dinner was rejected no less than three times. Kageyama could not make the first suggested date, a hung jury prevented his making the second, and his agreeing to fill in for a sick colleague made the third date equally unsuitable. Shoyo, reflecting on her reactive behavior amidst all this, could only be glad that he had not seen and would never hear of it, and she was doubly resolved to be good when he did come.

There came the day when, just after breakfast, Sir Kinoshita stopped by their house to inform the sisters, with a grin, that Kageyama was in transit that very morning, returning to his country house. Shoyo went at once to inform her parents, and her sisters followed her, to hear the case she would make to them. She insisted that the invitation be for tonight.

“You would ask a man to leave the comfort of his own home,” said her father, “After he has been away a time, and after he has made a long trip to reach said comfort. It is imposing, and almost cruel.”

“If he has any wish to see me, he will see me tonight,” Shoyo said. “If he gives the excuse that he is fatigued, or that dinner was already made up for him at home, it will be clear that he does not want to see me.”

“His excuses were not sufficient for you, then,” said her father. “You have felt a genuine insecurity in all this.”

“I have felt all the pain of disappointment and delay. He should know this, and should be prepared at the earliest possible moment to relieve me of it.”

“How on earth should he know this, Shoyo?” said her mother. “And he offered his apologies for occasioning disappointment.”

“You may yet prove,” said her father, “More of a young woman than a young man can handle, my daughter.”

But the invitation was sent, and in it her mother said his reply was unneeded; if he had not arrived by six, they would assume he could not come and eat without him. He did come, however, and Shoyo ran from her sisters into the drawing room. They were left to greet him themselves, and then to usher him to where she waited.

He paused across the room from her, by pure accident, for her presence struck him, perhaps not more forcibly than it ever had, but in a different way. She could not hide her anticipation, and it was just that which made her the prettiest he had seen her. Her eyes glittered, conjuring their own warmth, and in the low evening light her hair was aflame.

He then remembered his manners.

“I hope you did not begin to think I had abandoned my intentions, or that they were not serious in the first place,” he said.

“I thought it sometimes, but hoped not.”

She got up, and he came forward a few steps. She curtsied, then held out her hand. He pressed it as he bowed.

“I am sorry for the delay.”

“It seems the demands on your time are high in your line of work. That may be a problem for us. But we will talk of such things later.”

She led him into the dining room, where greetings were performed between her parents and the Kinoshita family. There was hardly a wait for dinner, and the lovers did not speak to each other again before all were settled at the table, she across and one over from him, between her mother and Hitoka. Kageyama sat with Tadashi on his left and Hinata Keishin on his right.

He was prepared to be tested again, believing this was the very reason he sat so near her father, but apparently he had already undergone as much as he would from her family, who now seemed either pleased with or resigned to the match.

Tadashi said to him:

“You ought to know, sir, that my sister is looking as well as she ever does. So you may either praise her accordingly to me, or admit that if this is her best you are disappointed and might reconsider yourself.”

“Miss Shoyo looks very well,” he replied.

“The secret is her excess of sleep,” Koushi smiled. “She has been going to bed early and waking late, trying to make the days go faster.”

Kageyama had prepared for more pointed questions, and to answer more satisfactorily than he believed he had done last time. When no such chance was given, he felt mildly disappointed, and had waited so long that his food was cold when he finally started on it.

But a trial did eventually come, in the form of the other young man present. Hitoka and her brother joined the pair directly after dinner, and Kinoshita asked whether Kageyama was uneasy being a lover.

“For this is the very party which heard your infamous speech,” he said. “We recall that you spoke of it as a misfortune, and grieved that you should ever see your friend in love. Do you pity yourself greatly, now?”

“I do not.”

“To be sure, you are rather the subject of envy,” said Kinoshita. “But I warn you that though we understand that you would never give yourself over to excitement, for it must be the greatest folly in the world to do so, others who know less of you might think you ungrateful.”

“Surely Kageyama never meant that love should not cause excitement,” said Hitoka.

“Maybe not, but he asserts that those who possess good enough sense have little trouble maintaining good conduct, even under the influence of all the excitement love brings.”

“I object to the idea of little trouble,” said Kageyama. “I believe rather that it gives them a great deal of trouble, for it would be far easier to abandon propriety all together.”

“Those who can resist so much, then, are in your estimation much better kinds of people than the rest.”

“That position is entirely unforgiving,” said Shoyo, “And I cannot believe it of Kageyama. I suspect that what he saw at school was not love, for in love there _should_ be a real fear, though not a crippling or overpowering one, of conducting oneself in a manner which would displease the beloved. A true love ought to incline the feeler to behave among others in a way which brings no amount of dishonor to the desired.”

“In excitement I find no fault, Miss Hitoka,” said Kageyama, “And Miss Hinata, I agree with you. Is there not a generous amount of pride involved in love? Is not the highest kind of respect present between two people who can be proud of and make proud one another?”

“You paint a charming picture of it, to be sure,” said Kinoshita, “But I rather think the two of you are speaking only specifically. People, and couples, are not equal in manners, sense, or morality, and love cannot be generalized in such terms. Some, for instance, might consider love to involve the total surrender of pride.”

“Why, of course,” said Shoyo. “The delight of love is that it will never be quite made out in a way that everyone agrees on.”

“It is a rather good thing, though,” Kinoshita said with a smile, “That we have established your similar views on the subject.”

She flushed, and Kageyama flushed, but not without pleasure.

It was her sister and mother who next sat with them.

“Has your family been informed of your engagement?” said Koushi. “I would think it rather unpleasant as a mother to hear the first tidings of it by gossip.”

“I wrote immediately to my mother and sister after receiving consent,” said Kageyama.

“Do they have any objection? They have never met Shoyo, after all. Unless you have put much of her into your letters to them.” She gave her sister a secret wink.

“I had written previously of my attachment. They were prepared for such news.”

Shoyo longed to know what was said of her in these letters. Then she scolded herself, and for a minute lost the thread of conversation.

“I understand that you do not have a house of your own in town, sir?” her mother said.

“I do not.”

“Do the commons houses of your firm provide sufficient comfort?”

“I am hardly seeking comfort while at work,” he said. “They are practical houses.”

“Such a description does not satisfy me, I am afraid,” said her mother

“Nor does it satisfy me,” Shoyo cried. “How am I to let you into town when I fear you will catch some horrible illness or influenza, and at the very least will be surrounded by dreariness and isolation?”

“I have lived there for upwards of one year,” he said, “And caught perhaps one cold in all my time. I never lack for any necessity while I am there, be it sleep, dinner, or a willing arguer.”

“I suppose you _have_ lived there some time,” said Shoyo. “And returning to the country will always revive you, if need be.”

“Indeed.”

“Have you ever entertained the thought of purchasing in town?” said her mother.

“Not seriously.”

“It is something businessmen do, I know, but it is not suited to everyone.”

“If at some future time it became an appealing prospect, I would consider purchasing a house in town,” he said. “But for the time being I prefer to be grounded at home in the country.”

When they were alone again, Shoyo said:

“I hope, sir, that in saying a house in town might become appealing in future, you were referring to some possible circumstance of your work, or our family situation, and not to any foreseeable wish to keep away from your wife.”

“I did not mean to insinuate anything of the latter kind,” he said. “I am sorry if your family heard the same evil as you in my statement.”

“Oh no, I do not think they did. They are not engaged in so keen a study of your words as I am.”

“If there is something you wish to know, you need not wait to catch it in passing through my regular conversation. You may ask any question plainly.”

She equaled the steadiness of his gaze. He spoke again.

“I might here give you the benefit of knowing that I am not a person of the kind to leave my problems behind me. I would hope I always have the courage and the sense to confront them as they come up. If the problem is at home, then, you should have no fear of my leaving before it has been addressed, Miss Shoyo.”

“I appreciate this habit in you,” she said. “It is very like the one I strive to keep.”

They looked seriously for a moment longer. Then she turned her eyes down with the softest of smiles. His eyes lingered longer on her, and a hallow carved deep in his chest as he thought ahead to the day he would receive all these smiles and words in full, and release every reaction to them that he now held in check.

 

While he was still in the country, he would come again, and two evenings later he was at family dinner. Afterwards they were left to themselves at a little enclave in the parlor, with her father’s warning that soon it would be time for him to go.

“I am sorry that you must come so far for each visit,” Shoyo said, “Though I am happy when you do.”

He nodded once. She sacrificed some sincerity for playfulness.

“It is so far, in fact, so taxing for your horses, your driver, and yourself, that the only explanation can be some great allure that I work over you. Tell me, sir, what can be the thing which motivates you?”

“You wish me to dwell on the particulars of your charm.”

“I wish only for the truth.”

“The truth, then. I am determined to gain a woman’s affections, and as I am the nearest to this end with you, I attend to all my invitations and take every opportunity to advance the match.”

“Shocking,” she cried. “I am shocked at you. What you are obviously determined about is to never humor me. Perhaps you think my particular _spirit_ , and the particular _color_ of my being, has formed me for forever amusing myself, and not being touched to anger or grief by a cold companion. I will do you the service of informing you now that this is not the case. I should be very unhappy with such a match.”

“By all means I will humor you, if it is necessary to gaining your hand. Only tell me whether it is so.”

“Why, how dare you,” she murmured, smiling but momentarily defeated.

“Tell me again, Miss Shoyo, what it is you would hear praised. Your spirit? Your colors? Your dangerous eyes?”

His voice had dropped, and with it he now looked too in earnest to be teasing.

“I do not think I have before mentioned your eyes. Or your cheek, a faultless rose even in anger…”

She felt his affectedness, and reasserted herself.

“You have, however, mentioned my petiteness, but only once. That I would like to hear of again.”

“You are in perfect proportion to all that goes unseen,” he said. “Your figure recommends all your spirit, sense, and sentiments.”

She flushed, without a smile.

“Miss Shoyo, you ask for praise only to receive it as if you did not want it. Are you attempting to lead me ill in my pursuit?”

“I am not,” she said. “To behave properly while in love is for you the ultimate test of good breeding. I admit that I am not sure of my ability to pass such a test.” She raised her eyes. “If I want to be with you, then, ought I to keep myself from falling in love with you?”

“You cannot pass the test that you do not endeavor to take.”

“Must your future wife pass this test? Is it a requirement?”

“She must, and so must I.”

“Oh,” she said. “And how are we performing thus far?”

“Well, by my estimation.”

She smiled in full force, wholly insensible to the fact that his consciousness of behaving honorably was even greater than hers. He had no intention of forgetting her words from that night in the carriage, and every intention of never hearing again that he had made her ashamed of him.

“For the remainder of our time,” she said, “There are some questions I have, which I will take your advice in and ask directly.”

“I will answer directly as possible.”

“How much more fortunate are you than my father?”

He frowned.

“That is not directness so much as impropriety.”

“I am only curious as to whether I will be leaving for a very different lifestyle, should we marry.”

“Your father is established in his business. I am but new to my line,” he said. “Therefore incurment is at present probably skewed to his side. I will come into a share of my father’s inheritance after I marry, which was set aside for the purpose of giving my partner and I a good start. As I move up in the firm, I should increase my earnings. So long as we are tolerably reasonable in our decisions, you never need worry.”

“How many children will such a living support, without my need to worry?”

“How many children will you be willing to carry?”

“This is what I ask of you,” she said.

“I have considered it only in the short time I have known you. Having grown up with one sibling, and seeing you as you are with your larger family, I find that a full house appeals to me. I myself would be pleased with five or six. If you are not willing to try for at least three or four, our health permitting, we may have at some time or another a serious disagreement.”

“Three, four, five, and six all please me,” she said, “So long as the income can comfortably provide. Do bear in mind that there are three of us daughters, and that my father had an early retirement. It would be unwise to depend on the gain of much dowry.”

“I would not do your family the dishonor of depending upon it, when they willingly give up their time with you to me.”

She laughed, surprising him.

“I am not so desperate for compliments that you need pay them in the midst of our business discussion.”

“You hardly have the right to be so particular, along with being so expectant,” he replied.

She smiled. Then across the room she caught her father’s eye.

“I have one more question for you,” she said then.

“Put your question to me, Miss Hinata.”

“How often will you be able to tolerate visits from my family?”

“They will always be welcome, of course.”

“Then you will be the more generous of the two of us,” she said.

“Have I given an incorrect answer?”

“No, not at all. It will be best this way. Have you any questions for me?”

“One, for the time being. Would you like a small or large wedding?”

“Oh! I will have to consider it, it had not crossed my mind until now.”

“Very well.”

“Is your opinion fully formed on the matter?”

“Not quite.”

She nodded. When he stood up, she followed suit. His eyes were steady at hers, and she drank in the full deep of their color and expression. She did not notice for a moment that he had put out his hand, and as she hurried to provide hers she started to blush. He held it firmly and covered it with his other hand; his were pleasingly cool against her warm skin.

“Until we meet again, Miss Shoyo, I hope you find as much to be happy about as ever.”

“I will make the best of what I have, and what I have to look forward to.”

He dropped his eyes and her hand as a smile threatened to break his face. He said courteous but quick goodbyes to her family, and was gone.

 

It was nearly three weeks before she saw him again, but she had more patience now, having found security in their attachment. In a sense, her patience was rewarded.

Kageyama proposed a walk, and she took him down her favorite creekside path. Her natural pace was brisk, and though he had no trouble keeping up, he did need to remove his jacket.

“I do believe ours is the most beautiful county in the country,” she said.

“You can hardly have seen many counties, Miss Shoyo, and are therefore ill-qualified to make such a declaration.”

“I may very well claim that it is the most beautiful county in my eyes, for no one is more qualified than myself to make such a declaration.”

“Then you ought to have been specific the first time.”

“I said just what I meant the first time.”

He decided not to press the dispute into a real argument.

“You must know your small property very well.”

“Yes indeed,” she said. “As well as the house itself. Are there many good walks on your estate? I can hardly get on without a few good walks, and at least one long one.”

“You may take your pick from many.”

“Oh! That pleases me very well.”

She hopped over a boulder, then frowned a little.

“I do not know that I like being the young lady. You are the one to prepare everything, and I have only to come into your home and receive it. I would like to have the fun portion.”

“There is not an abundance of fun in it.”

“There would be, if it were I undertaking it.”

“Speaking of preparation, I have brought something for you.”

“Have you?” she cried.

“May we pause here for a moment?”

She stopped and watched him reach for his jacket pocket.

“If you would be so kind as to tell me your opinion of it,” he said.

“Oh oh, what can it be?”

He pulled out a tiny box, opened it, and held it out to her. Her first reaction was to cover her mouth. She quickly dropped her hands and held them together in front of her, feeling the blush creep up her face.

“Since I am not well acquainted with your taste, I chose based on what I thought would wear well on you,” he said.

Shoyo leaned in. She took the ring from its cushion, but rather than bring it closer to her, she moved closer to it.

“I would like you to wear it, if you would do me the honor, as representing our intention for the future.”

“It is very pretty…I especially like the shape of the stone…”

She moved her eyes up to him.

“You are already so sure that you wish to marry me?”

“I had no inclination whatsoever to marry until I became acquainted with you,” he said. “For myself, that is reason enough to be sure.”

Shoyo put the ring back on the cushion, and said:

“Well, I must have you understand that I am not sure yet. It would be unjust therefore to take your ring and your promises.”

His eyes narrowed.

“So you have lied, you are not fond of this ring. Is it not dazzling enough to fit a woman’s fancy? Or is it the one offering it, who is not well looking enough? Do you intend to hold me off until you can be certain that no charmer like Ennoshita will come for you? I would not hope much of him, for there are plenty of women in town that he has called pretty.”

“You are clearly no charmer,” she snapped back, “But I had thought that as a lawyer you would know how to speak properly to a lady.” She folded her arms. “Is there still some question in your mind as to why I hesitate?”

He turned away, glaring at the ground, but when he looked back she wore a smirk.

“I have heard it said that your temper is poor,” said she. “In all my own experience with it, I would go so far as to say quite bad.”

“When I am deliberately provoked, it can be bad indeed.”

“As I am sure you are aware, I do not have the easiest of tempers myself. I only wonder whether it will be seriously troubling to us in the future.”

“I suppose that is a legitimate concern.”

He had closed the box and let his hand fall to his side. Shoyo stepped closer and took up his empty hand in both of hers. She spoke to his eyes, in seriousness.

“I want very much to marry you. You are exceptionally handsome and not a scoundrel, as far as I can tell. And you write half decent letters. At the moment when I am sure of my ability to be married to you, and you to me, I will gladly take your ring.”

She let go of his hand.

“And any ring. You may trade the stone for a plain band. In fact I advise you to do so, because I am terrifically good at losing such tiny things.”

“Is this serious advice?” he said.

“Perfectly.”

She started walking again, and he followed.

“I will not tell anyone about your proposal,” she said, “So do not make yourself uneasy.”

“I had no plan to do so.”

“No plan, to be sure, but this can only have added to the humbling you have received at my hand.”

“I have yet to receive your hand, so I can hardly have received anything from it.”

She laughed, and slowed down to skip through the hopscotch lines they had made with rocks when they were little girls. Eventually they reached a small pooling of the creek.

“I always turn back here,” she said.

“We have gone nearly a mile already,” said Kageyama. “Are you in need of an arm on our way back?”

“Oh no, I am never tired,” she smiled. “If you ever want my arm you must request it.”

“I will never request it, for it would only inconvenience the both of us. I can walk better without your arm.”

“Whatever suits you, sir.”

She was both exasperated and excited to find that he edged her pace the whole way home. But in the business of her mind she could hardly have time to humor him with a race. His offer of a ring, and what he had said in explanation for it, convinced her that he must be in some kind of love with her, in his dispassionate way.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a tour, a promise

Koushi was endeavoring to help her sister in all the ways she could, and the great part of this involved her valuable acquaintance with Miss Shimizu. The woman had endless lines of communication running to her, and through her letters to Koushi, Shoyo received information from all manner of his connections. His natural temperament was praised by no one, but his character received every approval she could wish for. He was not a frequent social presence, to be sure; in town he was often left out of invitations altogether, due to the dwindling hope of his ever agreeing to attend. But he had not shorted himself in way of school and work acquaintances; he had good connections and good recommendations in every quarter there. His performance in school had been exceptional, she was told, and had earned him a placement to be envied. There were no accounts of poor choices or wild conduct, and while he occasionally offended, it came from the stateliness and reserve, not from deliberate disdain on his side.

It pleased her especially to hear no word of any woman he had ever shown partiality, had ever flirted with or been petted by, for this confirmed his written claim that she had been the first and only to catch his attention. She knew what a despicably jealous and spiteful lady it made her, but she could not deny her pleasure in it.

For Karasuno, the marriage of one of the Hinatas was an exciting prospect, and a match to be much talked of, but still some expressed regret that such a close family, and such close sisters in particular, should be broken up, and for man who had had nothing to do with them until last year’s ball. Such was the gossip that Shoyo had become aware of. When he wrote to inform her that he would be in the village one day on errands, she met him there, and with this in mind, led him on a walk along the outskirts.

“I hear that you have been conducting a study of me,” he said.

“I have. Do you take issue with the fact?”

“It is logical to gather evidence from numerous sources. In fact to rely on the primary source alone would be foolish.”

She laughed. “I have heard that you are good at your job. I have even heard you called brilliant. You must be quite impressive to watch before the bench.”

“I do as well as I am able,” he said.

His eyes were on their walking path, and she could see the beginning of a heat in his cheek. Her smile grew, and she said:

“You are well-spoken, and I like hearing you. You have trouble hiding your feelings from me, which I am delighted by, for I am the same. And there is something in all this that makes me want to depend on you. I do not even know what for, but I am certain that you would do a credible job.”

This had the desired effect of making him blush darker.

“Why, sir, you ask for praise only to receive it as if you did not want it.”

He gave her a look, and she smiled all the more sweetly.

“Have you been doing a study of me also?”

“Since I first met you I have been doing so,” he said.

“What is your latest discovery?”

“That you are more like your elder sister than your younger.”

She laughed.

“You laugh at me, Miss Hinata,” he said, “Rather more than anyone else ever has. I do not know what to make of this.”

“I do not take you as seriously as everyone else. Now make of that what you will.”

She faltered as the familiar doubts of his steadfastness were summoned to the front of her thoughts. She hurried to change the subject.

“What errand is it that brought you into the village?”

“I am completing the furnishing of the house.”

“Oh, now that is a fine errand! It is nearly finished, then?”

“Indeed. You might come to see the house, if you wished. If it is something you still want to appraise.”

“Will you take into consideration my opinions on your furniture?”

“It is all new, or if not new, handed down in perfectly good condition. You can have no complaint with it.”

She laughed. “While you claim to be open to pleasing me in any way that will guarantee your successful pursuit, you still prove remarkably stubborn on the whole. I would love to see the house, if you would be obliged to show it, and would you mind very much if I brought a sister or two? Someone of my family ought to see where I am to live.”

“You may bring whoever you choose. The last of the furnishings should arrive from my mother’s house the day after tomorrow. Would you be available to come on the day following?”

“That will be perfect. We will come in our carriage, by noon.”

“It suits me.”

When she had said her (somewhat unwilling) ado, and they were about to part, Kageyama caught her hand.

“I have been led to believe,” he said low, “That today is the very day of Miss Hinata Shoyo’s 22nd birthday.”

She was surprised, then flushed, and smiled and nodded. Her face grew hotter when he bent down and touched his lips to the back of her hand. Now Kageyama was embarrassed, and let go as he stuttered:

“I wish you all manner of happiness in the coming year.”

She choked out “Thank you,” and they parted.

 

The sisters had perhaps never made merrier an hour and a half of driving, as they did on the way to see Shoyo’s future home. This was an adventure none of them had undertaken before and one which only a month ago could never have been expected. It was cloudy and windy, a fine day for being indoors, and they were rather surprised to find Kageyama waiting for them on the cobblestone path that sloped up to the house. The stables shared the same hilltop, and the girls came along the wider gravel walk to meet him. He bowed.

“Miss Koushi, Miss Tadashi, Miss Shoyo.”

Kageyama appeared to every advantage as he stood outside his great house, a story taller than the Hinatas’ and with a design much more formidable. She suspected that he had waited here with the intention of appearing this way, so she determinedly checked her smile into a moderate one.

“It is a pleasure to receive you,” he said.

“We have great pleasure in coming,” said Shoyo.

“It is rather a poor day for seeing the grounds, but everything inside is prepared for your reception.”

He led them up the last bit of cobblestone and opened one of the double doors for them. Shoyo went first, and at the sight of the entrance was instantly enamored. It started narrow, cozy, then suddenly opened, presenting a hall on either side that ended in a large room, and directly in front of her a wide staircase with blue carpet and a beautiful dark brown bannister up one side.

“Oh my…”

Her sisters joined her quiet awes and approvals, until Kageyama said:

“If you move to the right you will come into the dining room, where there are those assembled who wish to meet you.”

She looked at him.

“Oh, I did not know that—I did not expect the honor. Do lead the way.”

Kageyama moved down the right hall. He stopped at the doorway to the dining room, which was wallpapered in very soft pink and gold, and gestured her inside, where six servants waited in a neat row by the wall.

They would have been accepting of and well satisfied with any of the young ladies, as genuine as their manners were, but Miss Shoyo smiled differently, with a shyness that marked her as their likely future mistress. A pretty creature, they said of her when she had left, so small and so darling!

The house was decidedly spacious, but she was pleased to find it homey too. Not that she had intended to make complaint, but there was no fault to find with the furniture; the new and old pieces were tied together by their shared sturdiness and simplicity. While she liked the feel of the house, Tadashi could assure her of its practical and pleasing design, and Koushi’s eye caught neat details which would be of amusement to Shoyo when she had the time to further investigate them. The rooms were full of blues and browns, with some hints of pink, which she assumed were for her benefit, and which she would have found it less wholly inviting without.

On the third floor, in a room with very good natural light, Shoyo let out her most rapturous gasp yet.

“There is a piano?”

She ran to it, sat down on the bench and lifted the lid, then ghosted her fingers over the keys.

“It is original to this house,” he said. “My grandfather passed it to my mother upon her marriage, but my mother has by now gotten a new instrument, and so I had the old brought back.”

“It is a good model,” she said, “And seems to have made its trips without any great incident.”

Her sisters were standing on either side of her. Kageyama kept a distance from them, and said uncertainly:

“Do you play, Miss Shoyo?”

“I do, not prodigiously. Both my sisters are better in technique and know more songs.”

“But the songs she has learned, she is excellent at,” said Tadashi. “And she will work for hours on end if she wishes to learn a new one.”

“And do not be modest about your composition skills, Sho,” said Koushi, “For they are far superior to either of ours. She has written a dozen of her own very good pieces since she was thirteen or fourteen.”

“I was not aware,” Kageyama said. “I shall have it tuned, then, and it will not be the accent piece I had thought it was fated for.”

The girls left the piano, and Shoyo asked which rooms they would see next.

“The bedrooms?”

“You may see all but the principal bedroom,” he said. “It is not finished.”

“Why, you did not tell me you were having work done inside the house. What is it you are doing?”

“The portrait room is being made into a bedchamber, and the portraits have been moved to my grandparents’ room, where the walls were opened up and made appropriate for viewing.”

“So it will be a large bedroom.”

“Quite large.”

“Show us to the portraits, then, if you please.”

He regretted that he had not removed the face of a boy Tobio from the room, as she hardly had a mind for any other once she had seen it. They looked at his sister’s portrait with interest, but he told them that she had changed quite distinctly, so it was hardly a likeness anymore. The guest rooms pleased her sisters (they were twice as big as their own), and the view from every window was wonderful, going even beyond Shoyo’s wishes.

Now the girls must be going again, having promised their parents to be home for dinner. But there was a little time for the business Shoyo had intended for the day. When she requested Kageyama’s audience, her sisters graciously took the hint and left them alone in the entry, where a little enclave held a rectangular table with a chair at each end. They sat here, while her sisters went out to admire what could be seen of the grounds.

“There are a few additional matters I wish to discuss,” she said.

“Of course.”

“You seem to me to be a frugal person, in general. Will we have arguments about my ordering new clothes?”

“Perhaps, if your extravagance is a threat to our future security.”

She laughed. “Oh dear. It is a good thing then that I am probably of a family with lesser taste than yours.”

“I think my family’s taste good, but that does not mean it is always high.”

“True, but you have spent infinitely more time in town than I have. You must be more conscious of being in fashion.”

“I highly doubt that I am more conscious of fashion than any young lady.”

“That is rather condescending toward young ladies,” she said, eyes narrowed. “You should not assume us all vain and self-indulgent, and if you do assume it, you ought not to make it known.”

“Do you wish to spend the remainder of our time arguing one point, or do you have more questions?”

“I will ask my next question when you apologize for your slight.”

“I do not think all young ladies vain and self-indulgent.”

“That was not an apology.”

“It is as near one as you will get, for you assigned me the slight by exaggerating on my statement.”

“This interview has not started well,” she said.

“Try me with another question, and perhaps you will hear something more to your liking. Though I would be honest.”

“You had very well better be.”

They glared at one another for a moment.

“Do you believe in the effectiveness of physical punishment in raising children?” she said then.

“I was never punished in such a manner.”

“I remember three or four instances in which I was swatted, for having a tantrum.”

“Indeed?”

“Why do you smile?” she demanded.

“I do not smile, you are mistaken. This was at the toddler age?”

“Yes. They were delivered with no force at all, but my father grew remorseful of it, and I do not think I would ever feel it necessary to do even so little. What is your opinion?”

“As I said, I have no experience with it, and could not wish for any.”

“Good. Do you plan to host many evenings in this house?”

“I do not know your definition of many.”

“You need not fear my prevailing upon you often, for you know that in the home I grew up it was not the norm to have guests. And here we are even farther from acquaintances.”

“You may not be used to receiving company, but you are rather used to making up the company.”

“I know that sociability takes a necessary decline after marriage. I will have other duties, and other wishes.”

“If you take this to heart,” he said, “I should think it will spare us one argument out of two.”

“I suppose such would be arguments only I was at fault in, as you are blessed with a restraint so overbearing that it allows you the luxury of having no interest whatsoever in society.”

She did not give him time to retaliate.

“You have lost your father, and your mother, who must be doubly dear to you now, is not in perfect health. If you have a plan for her future care, in terms of distance, I would like to hear it.”

He was surprised by the question, and surprised that she could manage to give one that had this effect.

“My sister and I have talked of it often,” he said, “But have never yet mentioned it to our mother.”

He paused in thought.

“It is doubtful that she would agree to leave her present home, unless by a physician’s orders. And she would be even less willing to impose on the one of us who is married. But if she were in great danger, or great pain, nothing could keep me from her. I will value my commitment to you with my entire being, Miss Shoyo, but by the natural order of time it is my second commitment, and if my mother will not come to me, I must go to her. This house would be rented out, and I would stay in town or at her home, depending upon her condition. If you should be determined to remain with me, I would purchase in town, that we might still have our times of privacy. If there are children, I would want them to be with her as often as possible. Of course, I would want you to be with her as often as possible also, but she is not your mother, and that must be your choice.”

“This marks the end of my questioning,” Shoyo said. “I could not be married to one who did not feel so honorably in regards to his family. Though I do not know exactly what I will do, or how I will feel, I know that I need not be uneasy. And I am now prepared to accept your hand at the very time you offer it.”

“You are certain?”

“Positively.”

He read it again in her eyes, then took from his coat pocket another little box. He opened the box and slid it across the table to her. She took out the thin golden ring.

“I have the other, still.”

“Why?” she cried. “I will not change my mind, I was most sincere in my claim that I would as gladly have a ring like this one.”

“It would be a bother to seek out the jeweler again only to return it.”

“You mean to say you would be ashamed to exchange it, because you would appear a miser in the jeweler’s eyes. But now for your pride you will be punished with an even worse humiliation, as you will not be exchanging one for another, but returning the one as if your engagement had been broken off, or as if your courage had failed you in making the offer.”

“By accepting me,” he said, “You accept any ring I may choose to give you, and if I wish it you will wear the diamond until you lose it.”

She laughed. “Such a costly pride you court, Kageyama!”

In another moment she added:

“I am afraid you will have to be returning to the jeweler’s at any rate. This one is too big.”

“No, but I was meticulous in my selection. It cannot be that your hand is small on such a scale as to be half the size of mine. Let me see.”

He held out his hand. She put hers in it, and he fingered the ring. She smiled at his serious study; he turned it in its looseness, until as he held it she drew her finger out. When he looked at her, she smiled.

“I have your promise now, at any rate, and that is far more important than a ring,” she said.

“But you will wear this ring, once it has been properly fitted.”

“Yes.”

“And,” he said slowly, “You would like to live in this house?”

She nodded.

“We should speak with our families about the proceedings which will best suit them.”

“I will do it tonight,” she said.

“I will do it as soon as possible.”

“Sir?”

He waited, watching her eyes stir and bubble.

“Thank you for including my sisters in today.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.”

“I am going to leave you now, before you can put me to the test in this most difficult of moments.”

Her smile had shown out while she spoke, and she covered it with her hand as she swept up and out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up the next chap will take a while to grind out. In the meantime you can check out the animatic by [watanabaes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QYVfvAqtWB8) that inspired this story, her art style is adooorable (Kagehina looks great in Hamilton-era clothes that’s what fucking did this to me)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoyo and Koushi visit Kageyama's family

Now that their engagement was official and had been announced, Kageyama wrote to tell her of his desire for her to meet his family. If she would agree, he could request time away from work, and they might stay a week in his mother’s home. She was rather nervous for such a meeting, but knew it ought to take place; her parents were strongly in favor of the idea, and since it would not be proper to travel alone with him, one of her sisters could accompany her. That Koushi would come put her enough at ease to write back and consent to his proposal. The next letter she received was from her mother-in-law to be.

_Dear Miss Hinata Shoyo,_

_With every eagerness and earnestness, my daughter and I invite you to call upon us in our home at the earliest convenience to you. We are very rarely engaged elsewhere, so the date that suits you can be made to suit us perfectly. Though I am led to believe that your own dear parents have a similar preference for the comforts of remaining at home, I wish to make known that they are by no means excluded from this invitation. There is room enough for your entire family to be comfortable here, and I urge you to make as good a case as possible for them to wait on us, as the happiness of both our beloved children is so intimately connected to this match. We have heard all goodness of your parents, even more of your sisters, and more still of yourself. Though I daresay Sir Kageyama feels he has mentioned you in excess in his letters, it has been much less than enough information to satisfy myself or my daughter, as we have lived for several years in hardly any hope that he would ever feel fondly enough of someone to write to us about them. From this you must know that we are all joy at the prospect of receiving you, and my son writes in such a sly manner that we are left to be wholly curious too, knowing only that you must be an extraordinary woman. I dearly hope this letter finds you and your family in good health, and that I will soon have the pleasure of setting eyes on the lady who has so disinterestedly yet so thoroughly charmed my second born, by his own account of it._

_With sincerity,_

_Kageyama Danuja_

She trembled at the praise and warmth in the letter, but this was soon replaced with high anxiety. An extraordinary woman?! She had called Karasuno her home for all her life; she could hardly be considered accomplished, and she knew her greatest claim to any social esteem was that she happened to be one of three young daughters born to a delightful set of parents. Her mind drew a blank when she attempted to name any personal quality which could aid in recommending herself to her fiancé’s family. As always, her sisters were there for her feelings.

“Ask yourself only this, Shoyo,” said Koushi, “Whether you can name a single parent you are not a favorite with.”

To this she managed a smile, but then she said:

“From this letter I am inclined to think that his mother is already set on liking me, merely because she is pleasantly surprised to find that her son does. I am excessively worried about his sister, however. I wish I had a letter from her too, that I might know something of what to expect.”

“Her way of thinking is also mentioned in this letter,” said Tadashi.

“True, her mother uses ‘we,’ but from the way Kageyama speaks of her I suspect his sister to be extremely clever, and his approval of her is so obvious, whereas he will always quarrel with me about faults of mine, that she must be to him the perfect example of what a lady should be in mind, manners and airs.”

“It is no discredit to him if he thinks fine thoughts of his sister,” said Koushi, “For he thinks fine thoughts of a different kind about you. I trust that he is not writing love letters to his sister.”

“But if she does not approve of me he must be very keen on her opinion,” Shoyo cried, “Or when he sees us together he might think much less of my manners and my cleverness in comparison to hers.”

“If he was so very dearly fond of his sister, and saw all he could want in a woman when he saw her, would he not be content to live in that house with her forever, and would he ever have the inclination to write in hopes that some other young woman he had met would come to like him? Your claims do not align with what we already know of him,” said Koushi. “He was willing to leave his sister’s company merely for a house in the country that he was fond of. A house empty of anyone but himself, with no particular neighbors and a cumbersome distance to travel for any decent society. Surely if such was enough to induce his separation from her, then the esteem and companionship of a woman with sense enough to give her perfectly pleasing manners, with energy enough to make her commitment to him a most passionate and forbearing one—”

“A woman with so much prettiness in such a tiny capacity,” said Tadashi, “And so much of a propensity to make people feel their value—”

“Then surely,” her sister finished, “Surely such a woman is enough to keep him securely independent of his sister.”

“I am going to cry so much through all this,” Shoyo wailed, jumping to hug them.

 

The village of Aoba Johsai was all wonder (and a little mean envy) at the prospect of Sir Kageyama already to marry, and wanted very much to know what kind of woman it was who had caught his attention. His was the principal family in the village, but they were set off from their neighbors both by wealth and habit; the young Kageyamas had always been known as reserved and somewhat unreachable, though highly approved for their handsomeness and sense. They all wanted to know who the girl was who could engage him, that they might congratulate her, or in some cases, despise her.

Shoyo was luckily insensible to all this, and enjoyed (as much as she could in her nerves) the long ride to Kageyama’s old home. Shoyo could talk, but Koushi was truly a master of conversation, and she felt her appreciation for her grow when she had not thought anymore growth possible. Unless by some misfortune she found herself alone with his mother or sister, she could be sure that Koushi would give her a lead to follow, and would always manage to place her in a good position when possible.

They arrived just before dinnertime, and Shoyo went silent as they entered the park, then struck into the path which would wind its way to the house. There was much more of woods here than at Kageyama’s estate, and though it was new and different to look at, Shoyo knew instantly that she preferred the hill and open plain beyond it, and could not have been as happy here. Koushi offered her compliments of the grounds while Shoyo was busy fighting down the fire in her head. The house came into sight and she let out a breath of a squeak. Kageyama and her sister were now quiet as well, watching the building grow as they approached. It was much longer than it was high, made of light stone and accented with black. To Shoyo’s thinking it looked more like a state assembly building than it did like a home. There was a prettiness to it, though.

Kageyama was the first to leave the carriage. He turned to hand Shoyo out, and she had to pray for a moment that her legs would support her. She took a deep breath as she waited to the side while Kageyama handed her sister out. Turning to see as much as she dared, her eyes were caught by a person, a softly handsome young man who came walking out of a distant paddock toward a small waiting carriage. She squinted, started, and squinted again at the familiar face. Before she knew what she was about, she ran off.

The man had stopped next to his team when he saw her coming toward him, and after the joy of confirming him a friend of childhood, she suddenly thought to stop, fear paralyzing her brain as she realized how rude and wild a thing she was doing. But as she slowed down, it was then that her sister passed her, running precisely for the same destination. Shoyo caught up and they skipped to a halt in front of the young man. He was barely as tall as Koushi, with the same light hair and velvety eyes.

“Izumi, my dear sir, it is you,” Shoyo cried.

His smile broke farther into his cheeks.

“Oh my, the Miss Hinatas have grown into just what I feared they would.”

“Sir Izumi, why, we have not seen nor heard of you since you were ten years old,” said Koushi.

“And did you go to school then, are you a doctor?” said Shoyo.

“A doctor to equines,” he said. “There was a slight change of destiny along the way.”

“Oh that is wonderful, we congratulate you.”

“It is a surprise and a pleasure to see you here, Miss Hinatas.”

He was offering his hand to Shoyo, who took it with both of hers, then without warning threw her arms around him.

“It is so good to see you!”

Koushi embraced him too, and he gave her hand a squeeze as she pulled back.

“You might have written a letter,” Shoyo said then. “We never heard from you after you moved away to town, you know. Our parents had a few, maybe, but they were hardly written in a matter that could interest us.”

“I left it to you to decide whether we should speak again,” he said.

“That was very cruel of you, we thought you far too busy for us.”

“I know, and knew, Miss Shoyo, that you must be the recipient of so many letters that mine could hardly be worth reading, and certainly not worth replying to.”

“Why, how unfeeling you grew up to be, you were the sweetest boy that lived when we knew you in Karasuno.”

He laughed a little.

“You are here about horses, sir?” said Koushi.

“Indeed. I have already confessed to my surprise at seeing you, and I cannot account for your being here in this village, and at this estate. What is it that brought you?”

It was only then that Shoyo turned to look back at Kageyama, who still stood near the carriage, apparently not recovered from their abrupt departure.

“We are here to visit,” Shoyo said, “The family of my future husband.”

“I might have suspected something of the kind,” he said, “From the way that gentleman is looking at me. Perhaps an introduction is ill-advised at this time. You have only just arrived, I presume.”

Shoyo cast her eyes back again, more fearfully. Kageyama’s typically dark brow was a marked shade darker.

“Yes, we ought to be going inside.”

“Of course. I am delighted to see you, you are the wonders my mother always told me I ought to expect. Does your sister stay home?”

“She does, she is very well,” said Koushi. “We are all well.”

“You can feel free to write to us now, sir,” said Shoyo. “If you send a letter home we will attend to it when we get back. We live in the same place.”

“I will do so, though I have the wish of seeing you again while you stay here. I work in this part of the country most often.”

“Oh yes, I do hope we meet again. Ado sir!”

“Ado, dear ladies.”

The girls turned back to meet Kageyama along the gravel walk.

“If you are as willing a talker inside as you were at the stable just now,” Koushi murmured to her, “I should think they will love you in no time.”

Shoyo blushed, and now had to raise her eyes to meet Kageyama’s and see whether he thought her very rude, or betrayed any apprehension of allowing her entrance to the house. He looked affected by something, but she could not make out the feeling.

“I ought not to have embraced him,” she whispered.

Koushi laughed, and they were reunited with him.

“We do apologize, sir, for our hasty abandonment,” said Koushi. “It appears that your family’s veterinarian is a long-missed friend of our girlhood. It was the greatest surprise to happen to see him.”

“He is obviously very dear to you,” said Kageyama, “Therefore your haste is understandable.”

Shoyo frowned at his dry tone. Could he be jealous of a man she had spoken for two minutes with?

“My mother will send someone for our bags,” he said. “We will go in now, for the introductions first and foremost.”

As they walked along, he strode quickly ahead, and Shoyo, curious and a little irritated with him, strode likewise. When Koushi was behind them, Kageyama said:

“Your swiftness on your feet is rather astounding. I looked away one moment and you were far gone.”

“Oh, to be sure, I am nothing short of quick. But I can assure you that I did not go so very far as your eyes taught you to think.”

She tried to smirk when he looked at her, but it softened at the edges to sweetness. He hurried ahead.

The meeting with Izumi had brought so much cheer to her that the next meeting could only be daunting in the matter of not appearing the “extraordinary” woman they expected; but she now felt herself perfectly capable of graceful manners and the general impression of agreeability. And the last thing they could doubt, she thought, was the strength of her regard for him; when he stopped in the doorway of the sitting room to usher them through, she caught his eye and saw in it ease and energy. He had not been dreading this moment, he had been looking forward to it. She felt like leaping into him, but she only smiled broadly, and it brought out the smallest smile on his face.

The two women had stood up to receive them. Shoyo waited for Koushi to step to her side, then curtsied. Her cheeks ached with the effort to keep her smile appropriately small and unassuming. The ladies curtsied together, as his mother held her daughter’s arm for support. His sister was beautiful; the only person Shoyo had ever seen who might equal her was Miss Shimizu. She had black hair with a natural wave, and dark eyes that spoke pure intellect.

“It is our absolute pleasure to meet you, Miss Hinatas,” said Miss Kageyama. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you.” Then Shoyo’s smile beamed in full. “I am quite happy to make your acquaintance.”

His mother made a heavy exhale and dropped onto the couch behind her. Her hands fluttered in her lap.

“Oh goodness to heaven and earth, I never expected this.”

Shoyo and her sister were surprised. Koushi touched her arm, but neither could make any reply. It was Kageyama who came to their side and said:

“Is she not what you would have chosen for me?”

“If I had known she existed,” his mother cried, “She certainly would have been my choice. She is perfection!”

Kageyama’s surprise now equaled theirs. Miss Kageyama was the only one in the room who remained unaffected.

“If you would be pleased to have a seat here, in the few minutes before we move for dinner.”

She sat down, and the girls obeyed her, taking to the couch on her right. Kageyama sat to his mother’s left.

“I hope you will forgive me, ladies,” said his mother, “For relying on my daughter for all the manners and proprieties due on our side. I thought myself equal to anything but this, to find you both excessively pretty, so graceful in your movements, and so sweet in your address.”

“We can hardly have earned such compliments in a minute’s time, ma’am,” said Koushi, “But we thank you for them.”

“How does the day find you?” Shoyo said, determined not to be timid, even if every eye snapped to her the moment she spoke.

“Oh, I am feeling particularly well today, as I hoped I would be,” said his mother. “How did you leave your family?”

“Quite well. My mother, sister, and father are grateful for the compliment of receiving your invitation, but I must express their respectful decline to it. My parents would never wish to impose themselves on you in the home where you are used to finding all the comfort you can, amidst the discomfort illness brings. They do not suppose you in any way feeble or irritable, I assure you, but to their way of thinking a large party can only be suitable under the perfect conditions. They are not fond of any form of disruption, you see. And while they are at home, it is hard for us to leave them without any company for too long, and so my sister would remain.”

She gave a sigh only Koushi could hear. To speak on behalf of her family had been a point of considerable worry, and she felt she had done well in it, and could now be equal to the conversation no matter the turn it took.

“It is wholly sensible of them to follow their best judgement in such a manner,” said his mother. “And your sister’s behavior is not in the least slighting to myself, who has her daughter’s commitment almost constantly, and knows the priceless value of such an attention from one’s children.”

“Yes, we have heard of your daughter’s most honorable attentions to yourself,” said Koushi. “Nor do we have reason to doubt your claim to them.”

“Then my brother has done half well in his explanation of our arrangement,” said Miss Kageyama, looking at him. He nodded. She turned back to the sisters.

“You are Miss Shoyo, of course, and this lady, whose air of surety marks her to me as the elder, must then be Miss Koushi.”

Koushi gave a smile and nod.

“I would hardly believe that my brother has mentioned me by name, but it is just as well, I like to form my own introductions. I am called Miss Keiji, under most circumstances.”

“I know this of you,” said her brother, “And for it I refrain from dropping your name.”

“I am even less inclined to believe this account, for I know of you that every detail is sacrificed to brevity in casual conversation.”

Shoyo smiled, and spoke before he could.

“Miss Keiji, I would be much obliged to learn from you this way of speaking to him, that will make him realize he has lost.”

“I am afraid I cannot think you in need of any help,” said Keiji. “You would not be here now if you were not capable of equaling him in speech, I am sure of it.”

Shoyo smiled at her, at her sister, then at Kageyama himself. In his forehead there was some tightness, but at his mouth she thought she could detect the effort to hold back a smile.

A servant came to the doorway, and upon seeing her their mother announced dinner. They moved to the dining room and situated themselves at the table, Kageyama and his sister on one side of their mother, and Koushi and Shoyo on the other.

“I take my meals rather slowly,” said their mother, “So I hope you will be sufficiently interested in our conversation and not grow tired of being at table.”

The girls were asked more of their family, of their village, and of their interests and accomplishments. Shoyo could speak with much more energy and pride on the formers, and apologized for as much.

“—of course it is difficult for me to claim even as much as accomplishment, knowing that your daughter is so well-read, and has a superior mind and eye.”

“If we are to measure accomplishment simply by the number of areas one has a little skill and knowledge in,” said Keiji, “You are by all accounts my superior, Miss Shoyo. I only draw design pieces, I do not bother with needlework, and I have not touched a piano in a dozen years.”

“Oh, have you not a fondness for music?” she said.

“A tolerable fondness, but I have not the patience to sit and learn, to play the same over and over until it is correct. In reading a book, I know more after one page than I did before, and I may consider myself as having learned that much in finishing the reading. At an instrument I must take the same amount of time to learn one thing perfectly.”

“We are quite opposite in this turn of mind,” Shoyo smiled. “I would much rather have the one thing to learn perfectly, as you say.”

“If at any time during your stay you are willing to play for us, Miss Shoyo or Miss Koushi,” said her mother, “We would be delighted to hear. My joints are not equal to making use of our instrument much anymore, but it is a fine instrument, and I myself would be indebted to you for some music.”

Shoyo looked to her sister, who nodded.

“We would be honored, ma’am,” Shoyo said, “To play at any time you wish to hear.”

 

Directly after dinner his mother announced her retirement to her room, explaining that it took a good while for her to find a restful position and to ease her mind before sleep. The four young people were left to settle into a small parlor.

“If you have any mind to tell,” said his sister, “I would like to hear something of the proceedings between your family and my brother, Miss Hinatas. We have been pitifully ill-informed throughout the whole.”

“What is it that you did hear of, if you do not mind my asking first,” said Shoyo.

“In one letter we were informed that Tobio was grown rather fond of a Miss Hinata in Karasuno, and had some inclination to act upon his attraction. Hinata was the name we were most familiar with in that part of the country, and we had heard nothing less than that they were a good kind of family, respectable and amiable. There seemed no evil to us in an attachment to such, so we were pleased. In a second letter we were not surprised to hear that he had asked this lady’s parents for consent, and been granted it. For as you would know from my mother’s letter, Miss Shoyo, we had never heard anything of the kind from my brother before, and knew then that he must be serious and active in his endeavor to secure you for his future. The letters that followed these two were full of praise for your family, and in the places it could appear least conspicuous, praise for yourself. That is the whole of the tale from my brother’s side.”

“Then he has starved you of all the most interesting particulars.”

She smiled at Kageyama, who could not help but look apprehensive.

“Last winter, when we had only just become new acquaintances,” said Shoyo, “Your brother wrote me no less than five very pleasing letters. Only he did not sign them. At the time he chose to reveal his identity to me, I was furious with his deception, and for a while we were perfectly unsatisfied and uncivil strangers. Eventually it happened that a little further exposure to one another, and a little ingenuity on the part of my sisters, made me realize my preference for your brother over any man I had met.”

“Interesting indeed,” said his sister.

Kageyama’s color was fading, now that she had gone through her explanation without the mention of his former friend. He answered quietly.

“My blunders were several, to be sure.”

“But I do not think my attachment would be what it is, without them.” She could not help smiling at him. “I would never have so fully realized your worth if I had not things to forgive and overcome in you and in myself.”

She suddenly blushed and looked at her hands, realizing how severely embarrassing this might be to him to hear, in front of his sister and hers. Already she had shown a tendency to be improper. This time, however, she was not faulted for it. Keiji said:

“I quite agree with you, Miss Shoyo. And it is a far better thing, I would think, to have trial and test before one commits to a marriage, rather than all lovely feelings and simple pleasures, only to be rudely awakened once the commitment is finalized and expected to be lasting.”

“Precisely,” said Koushi.

They talked then of more general things, of Karasuno and of Aoba Johsai, and of what was to take place during the Hinatas’ stay. Time passed quickly.

“I will do the honor of showing the Miss Hinatas to their rooms,” said Keiji, “So you must say your ados here and now, Brother.”

“Goodnight Miss Shoyo, Miss Koushi.”

“Goodnight sir.”

“Goodnight sir.”

Miss Kageyama led them upstairs and to the back of the house.

“This is the largest of the guest rooms, if you had rather share.”

“We would rather, if you please,” said Shoyo.

“Your bags are within, then, and I hope you will find sufficient comfort.”

“Oh, to be sure. Thank you very much, miss.”

She and her sister curtseyed and smiled. They thanked and dismissed the lady-in-waiting and went inside.

“They are certainly a very good kind of women,” said Shoyo as she unbuttoned.

“And nothing at all to be feared. His sister is not open, but I daresay she is highly agreeable.”

“Oh yes, I fancy her better bred even than he.”

“She is as direct, when she wants to be,” Koushi half laughed.

“I like her and her mother.”

“So do I.”

Koushi put a hand on her shoulder and peeked around to see her smile, then hugged her from behind.

“Be as happy as you can, my dear, for I long to see you that way.”

Shoyo twisted in her arms to return the hug.

“Thank you for coming with me, Koushi.”

She patted the orange fluff before her. Then they got into their beds, and talked of Izumi until Shoyo fell asleep midsentence.

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hinatas are still paying their visit to Kageyama's family, meeting some people, Tobio is smitten, etc.

Shoyo woke long before her sister, and after she had composed the letter to her family which dwelt on their cordial reception, it was still too early to expect breakfast. She went tiptoeing into the hall, intending to stop at the top of the stairs and listen for any sound below, but immediately she crossed paths with a manservant.

“Good morning, Miss Hinata, may I be of service?”

“Good morning, I only wished to know if there is anyone else up in the house.”

“Miss Kageyama and her brother go on their walk in the mornings, while he is here. I saw him preparing to meet her just now.”

“Oh, will you be so good as to inform them that I am awake, and if they do not offer an invitation I will understand that they have a particular special custom between them, so there is no need to press for my admission.”

The man went down, and came back to say that her company would be most gladly received if she wished to walk. She dressed quickly, tied on a bonnet to cover her mess of hair, and went down to find them at the back kitchen door.

“How do you do?” She smiled and curtsied.

“It is early, but you look well-rested, Miss Shoyo,” said his sister.

“Oh yes, I feel quite up to a walk.”

“The day that I find you unwilling to walk,” said Kageyama, “Will be the day I am genuinely shocked.”

“It has happened a few times before,” she smiled, “So you ought to prepare yourself.”

They were a quiet party, for the most part; his sister made infrequent remarks on the landscape, and Shoyo gave polite response, but did not burden them with chatter. If Koushi were there she would have expounded to her on all the unfamiliar beauty around them, but she kept it to herself now.

Eventually, his sister said:

“The particular part of the country where you will live, Miss Shoyo, is quite lonesome, as I recall. It will be made even more so by my brother’s being obliged to go away for long periods. But I assume you have considered this, and deemed it manageable.”

“It will perhaps be hard at first,” she said, “While separation from my family is a wholly new concept, and while I have no children. But I should certainly play better for it.”

“Considerable time might be employed at your instrument, to be sure. Will the distance to your family allow for frequent visits?”

“Hardly, for frequent ones, as I must be always going to my parents, and I am not fond of carriage rides that allow the visit to be hardly equal in length to the travel time.”

“You will be rather alone, then. What will you do?”

“I am sure I shall take even greater pleasure in letter-writing. And if I have one engagement every fortnight, in the village or at home, I believe it will satisfy me by giving something to look forward to beforehand, and something to recall with fondness after.”

“This will be an alteration indeed,” said his sister, “To your current mode of life. To go from two sisters and very often two parents around you, not to mention numerous old friends of the village, to having none at all within that same reach, I fear might take its toll, on your health, or heaven forbid it, your spirit.”

“My sister,” Kageyama said, “Have you determined overnight that my engagement should be dissolved?”

“No,” she smiled, “I have no such intention, I assure you. Miss Shoyo answers fully and confidently to every question, encouraging me to inquire further.”

“Have you forgotten, sir,” said Shoyo, “That to your first offer of true engagement I gave a negative, which was motivated by uncertainty of my future happiness? Do you now think I am not in a mind to consider the matter as absolutely settled?”

Upon his being unable to answer, his sister smiled.

“There, you can now have no fear of my questions, even if they did grow from other than simple curiosity.”

 

In the time following, the Hinatas were provided with a good example of his mother’s condition, which every compassion motivated them to be attentive to. She was an energetic woman in spirit; this much had been evident the first evening. The disease rendered the strength of her body unequal to the strength of her mind and will. At first it was almost more than Miss Shoyo could bear, and she had a mind to scold Kageyama for his bad information. There was so much sadness in her state. While obviously a woman ill-suited to lying for long, as much was required of her daily, and it was why her daughter was such a valued companion, being so intelligent, so good for conversation of the meaningful kind. The Hinatas became as motivated to give her pleasant society for her own sake as they had been to give it and win her approval.

The third day was to hold the dinner engagement that the village longed for, and that the Kageyamas, now having important guests, were obliged to attend. But it was an engagement Mrs. Kageyama could in no way bear through, so Shoyo, Tobio, and their sisters set off in the late afternoon, walking the half mile downhill to the hosts’ property (the family with the best dining room had the honor of being collectively decided upon as hosts).

As they came up the walking path, another party was just arriving in a carriage, and the three young ladies and their parents alighted so quickly that the Kageyamas were obliged to greet them before they had reached the house. But Shoyo’s attention was called off by a loud hello from that direction, and two men came striding forward from the front door, obviously intending to be the first to receive her. Shoyo went to meet them, and was glad to feel her sister coming along at her side.

“Welcome to Miyagi Park,” said the man on the left. “We are Mr. Matsukawa and Mr. Matsukawa-Hanamaki.”

She curtseyed. “My sister and I were gratified in receiving the invitation to your home. I am Miss Hinata Shoyo.”

The speaker laughed quietly to his husband, and they smiled at her. Shoyo glanced over, to see that Kageyama was still engaged with this rather rude family who had intercepted them before they could meet their hosts. She quickly spoke again.

“The tree row that lines your driveway is the most beautiful I have seen this summer.”

“Thank you, very kind of you to say so. I am sure your stay with the Kageyamas has been a pleasant one, they are considered the very standard of good company in this part of the country.”

“I admire both women wholeheartedly.”

They were joined by the other two, and Shoyo’s nerves eased away, until they had gone inside and she heard the audible quiet that fell. She hurried up to the nearest grouping of people, curtsied and waited to be introduced.

She felt that for the amount of people in attendance, it should not have been called a dinner, but something else. And the dining room was certainly well-planned and nicely furnished, but hardly big enough for the comfort of all. They had only been introduced to half the people by the time they sat down, and a few of these had not disposed themselves favorably to the Hinatas. Koushi felt even more than her sister the impertinence of the family that had seized the Kageyamas and caused their separation from the ladies they were to be presenting, and when this family again obtruded on their party to know the other half of it, she found the three daughters, who were younger than them, to be wildly talkative. The Hinatas were inclined to pardon them in some measure due to their ages, while Keiji made it clear by her expression that she was much less forgiving, especially of the insolence which was aimed directly at the two ladies in her charge. In a few other of the young people, and maybe more particularly their parents, there was a stiffness and a loftiness in manners which was quite obviously not intended to please. Apparently some of his hometown felt more of a claim to Sir Kageyama then he had let on, or that he was aware of.

Dinner was excellent, and she would have been content to stand with their hosts for the rest of the evening and talk through the particulars of the courses, but everyone seemed to have a demand for her attention, and it was building rather more pressure on her than she liked. But she would not be afraid, she would not require a shield in her sister or her man, for this must be part of his test also, and his sister was here to be a second judge. She was introduced to the Kyoutanis, and determined to bear them, though she had not liked their looks at her from where they sat across the table. They were a widower, a son, and a daughter, the latter her own age.

“Miss Keiji, Sir Kageyama, how do you do,” said the father. His children bowed.

“Very well, thank you,” said Kageyama, with force. “I have the pleasure of introducing Miss Hinata Shoyo and her sister Miss Koushi.”

“A pleasure,” he said, and then his daughter stepped forward.

“I am very pleased to see you out with your brother, Miss Keiji. I cannot remember the last time we received the honor.”

“And I cannot remember the last time my brother was engaged,” said Keiji.

Shoyo was growing rather frightened of the son, whose look at her was most savage. When she tried to smile at him, he turned away. She blinked in surprise, and hardly heard herself being addressed.

“Miss Shoyo, I understand that none of your family draws, sings, or plays. I wonder what the Miss Hinatas can be about, if such is true. Surely there is no other woman like Miss Keiji to be found, who can be so self-disciplined in study.”

“Why, I am sorry, miss, but I must correct you,” said Shoyo. “My sisters and I all play, and though I certainly claim no prodigious talent for it, I am quite fond of the activity.”

“Well,” said the other, “Perhaps if you had known Sir Kageyama as long as myself, you too would wonder at his being drawn to a girl so little disposed to accomplishment, or education, for his is a mind of the highest inclinations. He is not a Kageyama at all without the good sense that completely rules him.”

Somehow the lady avoided the freezing looks of both her sister and his, and seemed almost pleased with herself. Shoyo’s soft feelings were dented by the blow, but in silence she struggled between the reaction of indignation or distress, neither of which seemed appropriate. Miss Kyoutani spoke again.

“If you had known him as long as myself, you might also wonder at his choosing a lady none of his acquaintances had ever heard of, either for her beauty or good breeding, and needless to say, not her accomplishments.”

At this even Koushi was unsettled, and Keiji vexed to speechlessness. To everyone’s surprise, it was Shoyo who spoke.

“It seems that by this you have only proven that you do not think so highly of his sensibility as you claimed to in the speech before,” she said. “If _you_ believe he has chosen ill in this most important of matters, that can mean nothing to my respect for him, and only have any weakening effect on yours.”

Her sister was astonished that Shoyo, who had probably never met with a truly ill-natured woman in her life until tonight, could answer so immediately, and with the perfect measure of sweetness and archness. Koushi did not know which power of hers to attribute this to. As Shoyo went away and was followed by a rather dazed Kageyama, Koushi was left behind with his sister, whose quiet remark provided a proper climax to Koushi’s delight.

“In that scene, I suspect, your sister has just captured his admiration in the deepest sense possible, if indeed such an admiration was still being withheld. He lives to have arguments won with a very quiet, and thus very total, triumph.”

Not everyone was set on making his bride-to-be miserable, luckily, and there was enough pleasantness in the jokes of their hosts, in the smiles of some older couples, and the genuine excitement of some youngers, to form good memories of the evening.

 

Tobio had since youth retained one steadfast friend; though one had chosen study and vigorous occupational achievement, and the other the singular and familiar life of a village landowner, no physical or intellectual separation had produced any awkwardness between them, and Tobio continued to value the infrequent companionship of Sir Kindaichi. He expressed the necessity of calling on this friend while he was in the village, and Shoyo could not object, as his family had been perfectly amiable thus far, and as her sister would stay behind with her.

“I had not heard of your brother’s particular friend from Aoba Johsai,” said Shoyo. “I knew only of a Sir Ennoshita closely associated with him.”

“His father was a close companion to ours,” said Keiji. “This is what largely fosters the relationship between the two sons.”

“Is that so,” said Koushi.

“I do not recall that I have heard your father mentioned by Sir Kageyama,” said Shoyo, “Except perhaps in passing. Of course I would not ask, though perfectly curious.”

“You know enough of my brother to know that he would not venture it unless asked, and I do not think you need fear alluding to the subject. There was never anything like a strain between them, and he passed when both of us were at a far different time of life.”

It was then that Mrs. Kageyama joined them, having finished a helping of gruel and worked herself out of bed. Her presence did not prevent Shoyo from saying, after pleasantries:

“I will not inquire to you about the manner of Mr. Kageyama’s passing. Of that, if your brother intends for me to know, he would surely mention it himself.”

“Oh, were you speaking of your father, Keiji?” said her mother.

“A little. Undoubtedly my mother can have something of value to add, if we would continue in this topic.”

“I have no objection,” said Shoyo.

“Perhaps we might hear something of the courtship between you, ma’am,” said Koushi, “In the spirit of the present time.”

“You know just how to oblige the heart of an aging woman,” said Mrs. Kageyama, “For I have thought of it so often since you arrived, Miss Hinatas. The perfect happiness of the moment cannot be forgotten while it is shared, but now that I carry the memory alone the details of its feeling slip away from me.”

“Do go on and relive it to us,” said Keiji. “I daresay you need only a refreshment of memory.”

“Very well, but you must speak up when I become a bore. My husband and I were a union of two large estates. I do not say as much in boast, for of course it was by no merit of our own that we were born to wealthy families. I grew up in the house you are set to be mistress of, Miss Shoyo. My father was a widower from the time of my birth, until his death eleven years ago.”

“Why, how astonishing,” said Shoyo, “To hear that you never knew your mother, when you are such an affectionate and attentive one yourself.”

“I do thank you, that is good of you to say. I never did know her, nor was there anyone immediately available to play something like that part to me, so my father made the most logical choice he could, though it would be the most painful one to him. I was sent to a private tutor in town, for nine months out of every year. She was a wonderful strict woman, and I received every benefit of it, as with my single mourning father I could only be doted on and spoiled. My aunt, his sister, afforded me her house and her society to complete my social education, and when I had come of age and ceased tutoring, I stayed for extended seasons with my aunt or friends of hers. So much socializing is what allowed me to meet my husband, for he was hardly to be seen, and I who went out so frequently was the only woman who happened to encounter him with reasonable frequency.”

“Do you then maintain,” said Koushi with a smile, “That you got him by persistence? Much you have taught your son, if that be the case.”

“I can never know. He was not the kind to admit so much to me, even after twenty-two years married. He was so reserved, it was almost all one ever heard of him, but he had a look of intelligence which pressed me to endeavor for more. I was rewarded with conversation thoroughly enriching to me, and manners that perfectly pleased mine. I can only assume that it was the same on his side.”

“A love to be envied,” Keiji said with a smile. “Not a detraction on either side. No doubt the Miss Hinatas are charmed, but such perfection in the match of one’s parents is nothing but daunting to a daughter.”

“You know very well, my dear, that there were detractions, and large ones they seemed. Reo knew of my equal openness to love from man or woman, and I was rather surrounded by charming young woman at that time of my life. I certainly perceived in him a doubt of my wishing more intimacy with him than with any of them. And there was so much talk of us as made him almost distressed. People thought of how great our worldly consequence would be, by uniting such a pair of inheritances, and pair of minds, both well-known in their respective intellectual circles. Every person of the smallest connection to us called for the match, wanting to claim a closeness with an affair they deemed so grand, so full of importance. And of all things,” her mother said, “This made Reo positively weary. He hated such attention to his personal affairs. And he was rather angry with all his relations for approving the match on the idea that our fortune would be beyond what either family had had before, rather than on the idea that he was fond of me and found the turn of my mind compatible to his. At such a time I rather wished I was a girl with nothing at all to my name, if this would allow for an end to his hesitation.”

“I do believe most people cannot help but take interest in such affairs,” said Shoyo, “Involving wealth, great names, and well-trained intellects.”

“Oh I do agree with you, I think it among the most common of follies in us, and even Reo had long since forgiven them, at the time of his passing.”

“How did Mr. Kageyama come to be assured of his choice, ma’am?” said Koushi.

“By my informing him that I was to receive nothing but pocket money until my good father should die. He knew my father to be exceptionally fit, as all he did alone at the country estate was walk and walk, and work in the garden and the tree groves. In this manner Reo became convinced that it was not so great and grand a union as everyone was determined to think it, and that he was not in marrying me the avaricious fool his family’s talk had started to make him believe he was.

“By this time a large wedding seemed unavoidable, and though it was highly unappealing to my husband, I must never be too proud to admit it was what I had always envisioned for myself. Even Reo would admit that to have the complete affair and be done with it was better than to have it talked of for the rest of our life together as a thing that in never taking place had disappointed everybody, and been the wasted opportunity of everyone’s lifetime.”

The Hinatas laughed a little, but Shoyo ceased even to smile at his mother’s next admission:

“We were married at the Lakuaira.”

She said it with no small measure of sheepishness. The Lakueira was, had been for decades, the premiere wedding location in the country; every important person short of royalty was married there.

“It was in fact the only place large enough to hold the number of dancing couples that would attend, and since by this time my husband had ceased all resistance to a great event, he made no objection, though he lived in the humility of it all his life, and my own shame in admitting it has increased with age, and with being now an invalid almost fully severed from society.”

“I do believe that the very manner of your reaction to it demonstrates the purity of your characters,” said Koushi. “I daresay many couples who marry there are afterwards hardened in conceit, and live to tell of their wedding, even thirty or forty years later, and with more pride each year.”

“Upon my word, I hope time does not prove them so,” said Mrs. Kageyama.

“If they were self-important to begin with,” said Keiji, “They will certainly appear more so in the present and future, Mother, just as you prove more and more humble and sweet tempered.”

She laughed. “I feel rather like I did in former days, with all the charm and good intent of very amiable young ladies who keep me company.”

Shoyo did not join in conversation anymore; she had been greatly surprised and significantly disheartened by the account of Kageyama’s parents’ courtship. Perhaps Miss Hinata of Karasuno was not grand enough for them. Her feelings were not helped by the arrival of the lady’s son just then, handsome enough for it to be considered treachery, too smart for anyone’s own good, and of a family rich beyond what Shoyo could ever have imagined, even in a childhood largely spent pretending she and her sisters were princesses. He ought to have found someone of better blood, or at least of higher taste, and a woman with less country lax in her manners. If she were such a woman, they might truly be a couple of the kind his mother described.

But she chided herself. How could she be thinking as much, here in their sitting room where she had been nothing but welcome? She detected no ill will in his family’s manners to her; there was certainly no indication that they resented her small fortune. And Tobio, as she was growing somewhat used to identifying him as, had been caught more than once in the act of long looks at her, and these were not looks in any way regretful or reconsidering, by her judgement. At any rate, the effect of this kind of look could hardly be considered discouraging; she could not help but equal his stare, even as she squirmed under her dress, and was grateful when it would end with his retracting his gaze in quiet embarrassment. This helped her more than anything else could in realigning her thoughts so as to be appropriate to the sitting room.

 

Today they were to have another engagement, but a private one, afternoon tea at the Kageyamas’ own home. Tobio, who had arranged it, informed them that their friend Miss Shimizu was in town and had been obliged to come see them. They were ecstatic, and soon made even more so by his admitting that their other old acquaintance, the gentleman with an affinity for horses, would also come.

“Oh you did invite him—” Shoyo squeezed his forearm. “That was very good of you!”

Then she turned and caught her sister’s hands.

“Izumi is grown so handsome, is he not? I wonder if he is married.”

“Surely we would have heard of that,” said Koushi.

“But what if he is? And we called him sir, we did not even think of it. We ought to have called him doctor at the very least, oh dear.”

“But he was wholly pleased to see us, Shoyo, you remember.”

“Oh yes it was the best surprise, an accident is always the best surprise.” She turned back to Kageyama. “It was so good of you to invite him, sir, it makes us happy indeed.”

“Perhaps you could provide me some further explanation of the acquaintance, and your motives for happiness,” he said.

“We could, certainly. Izumi lived in Karasuno when he was young, and our parents chose him as our gentleman-prior. When we were girls of 8 and 10 he was the same age, and we were brought together in order to practice our manners. So exciting it was, do you remember, Koushi? To hear that Sir Izumi would come.”

“Indeed, it was exciting to know we would have a little gentleman to join our games, the moment our parents were out of sight.”

“Oh yes, after practice we would sneak him away with us to play. Those were wonderful afternoons indeed.”

“You will not be surprised to hear that Shoyo was the instigator of our unruliness,” said Koushi.

“My dear sister,” said she, “You were the eldest, while Daichi was at school, and you must have been the leader.”

“I goaded you on, to be sure, but I made certain that the ideas were yours enough that you could be blamed if we were ever found out.”

“Surely your parents were in some way privy to you,” said Kageyama. “They could not be unaware, for example, that children prefer to pass the time in a specific manner, and will do so if given the opportunity.”

“Of course they must have been privy,” said Koushi, “And I suspect he was chosen as much for his gentle and careful way of playing as for his manners.”

“I had not thought of it,” Shoyo laughed, “But surely it was so, for he could even play with Tadashi in a manner that pleased her. How many times did we make her cry, and he never.”

Kageyama would have a friend to call too, and they waited for these three guests at the side door under the west awning. The lady was the first to arrive, and the girls exclaimed. Koushi hugged her, then allowed Shoyo her turn.

“I offer my congratulations, Miss Shoyo,” said Shimizu.

She nodded with a shy smile. “Thank you.”

Kageyama stayed at the door, while the Hinatas took Shimizu into the parlor to introduce her to his family. Koushi sat down with her friend to keep things comfortable, and also to observe with pleasure the way she earned the respect of his sister in a few short words and nods. Shoyo made her way back to the hall and found Tobio already in conversation with another dark-haired young man. The man had opened his mouth to reply, but stayed his words upon seeing her. She smiled. Kageyama turned, and she watched his posture grow somehow, and his eyes shine harder.

“I would like you to meet Miss Hinata,” he said.

“Hello, miss.” The man bowed. “How do you do?”

“I am very well, thank you.”

“If I understand correctly, my congratulations are due to you. I have already paid them to Kageyama.”

“I do thank you, and it is a pleasure to meet you, a friend?”

“Yes, Sir Kindaichi,” he supplied.

“I thought so. Pleased to meet you.”

“Are both your mother and sister inside?” he said to Kageyama.

He nodded, and Kindaichi passed them. Shoyo did not have time to smile at Tobio before the door was being opened again, and admitting her long lost friend.

“Izumi! How lovely to see you again, how are you today?”

“Very well, Miss Shoyo. You look equally well yourself.”

“This is Sir Kageyama.”

Izumi nodded, smiled. “Your invitation was unexpected, sir, even knowing your connection to my old acquaintances. I thank you, I am truly gratified to be included today.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he replied.

“But Shoyo, is this all the greeting I can expect from you now, or in future? I cannot forget the last time we met, you see.”

And he held out his arms. She trembled on the spot, looking feverishly between the two men. Then Izumi laughed, and winked at her as he let his arms fall.

“A handsome conquest you have made,” he said as he walked by her. “I can have very little pleasure in giving the news to my mother, she will be wholly unsurprised.”

“Izumi, you have grown so sly,” she cried, about to follow him. “Anymore of this and I will be tempted to have Miss Kageyama put you in your place.”

“Miss Shoyo.”

She turned. Kageyama was still waiting inside the door, and he beckoned her back. Her stomach went a little cold as she returned to him, in dread of a scolding for her loudness or wildness.

“We are awaiting one more guest,” he said.

She cocked her head. “Why, but who can that be? Everyone you informed me of is here.”

“You are fond of surprises, are you not?”

Her eyes lit at him, but before she could smile the footman was opening the door again.

“Sir Ennoshita, hello!”

He smiled.

“Hello miss.”

“I had no idea we were to receive you, how are you?” she said.

“Why, Miss Hinata, I must confess that if I did not suspect you and Kageyama to be terrifically happy just now, I would with every manner of frankness let you know that I consider myself abominably ill-used by you both. I suppose you think it a great joke, however, for I knew not a thing until I knew you were actually engaged. I have never been thus duped in my whole life. Nor could I be more pleased to be, however.”

“I do apologize, sir,” she said, “Though you might take comfort in knowing that you were not the only one.”

“And here he is, the luckiest of men.”

Kageyama gave no greeting but a nod.

“I will tell you, Miss Hinata, that I questioned him when he delivered my invitation for today. I asked when he had fixed on you as his goal, to which he would not give a straight answer. But do you not recall that while you and your sisters were in town I said that he must be in love with one of you? I ought to have been much surer in my belief of it, for he is just the kind of complicated man to be impressed upon by young ladies who charm and recommend with such simplicity.”

“As to all that,” said Shoyo, “I can tell you that he was as surprised as you to find that he liked me, and admitted as much. He must have started that very night at the ball, for I argued with him, and after that I am sure he could not put me out of his head. All he could want is a woman stubborn enough to insist upon the last word, and to take up every argument in the full faith that she will win it. This will forever amuse him.”

“I neither think you so foolish nor so frivolous as that, Miss Shoyo,” Kageyama said. “And I would not find such an arrangement nearly as desirable as you may think.”

“I cannot jest with him,” she said to Ennoshita. “I must work harder at it, if we are to outlast the discoloration of our rings.”

Kageyama gestured down the hall, and the guest moved forward. Shoyo settled just ahead of Kageyama and led him to the room where they were gathered. Ennoshita was greeted, the whole party settled, and the tea brought out.

Kageyama had apparently, but for reasons unknown, assembled a group which would prove his own insignificance. Izumi was there to draw her attention, Kindaichi to spark her curiosity, and Ennoshita to laugh with her at her lover’s expense. His sister and mother were substantially better in conversation than he, and of Koushi’s value to her enough could not be said. Even Miss Kiyoko, so unobtrusive as she sat sipping her tea, must as a familiar acquaintance hold more interest than the other reserved person in the room. The loyalty which Shoyo exhibited throughout the whole could hardly have been expected by Kageyama, though it was no surprise to anyone else.

“What have you argued about, thus far?” said Ennoshita. “Every couple must go through the wedding ropes, from what I understand. Have you made up a guest list?”

“Who and how many are questions still to be determined,” Shoyo said.

“Then, a gift list?”

“I do not know of anything we could need.”

She glanced at Kageyama, who stirred at her attention, but said nothing.

“If it were on a gift list, the last thing it would be is a need,” said Ennoshita.

“We will ask for nothing but well-wishes,” she said, smiling again at Kageyama. “And perhaps some pieces of advice as they are available. You may all give your gifts now, if you like.”

They all laughed or smiled at her, and Kageyama shrunk back again from notice.

“Who should we advise first, you or he?” said Izumi.

“He is the more in need of it, I daresay,” said Kindaichi. “Who has he taken care of these last ten years outside himself? None of us dares require much of him.”

Ennoshita laughed. “That is nearly too true to be amusing.”

“I cannot testify to much more in Shoyo’s case,” said her sister. “She is the middle daughter, not expected to model caretaking nor be determined to prove her dependability.”

“Well, I cannot doubt it if my sister has observed its truth,” said Shoyo, with a flush, “But I think it is all the better that we will be able to learn together. We both ought to be more forgiving of mistakes.”

She looked to him for some sign of agreement, which he could not give amidst his surprise again at being attended to.

“Shoyo is loving and caring by nature,” said Shimizu, “And will not fail to satisfy in those aspects of wifehood.”

“I have no doubt that Miss Shoyo can learn,” said Ennoshita, “But what of him? What can his family say in his favor?”

“We can only laugh, sir,” said Keiji, “At your doubt of Tobio’s ability to learn, to quick effect.”

“But my daughter, I cannot agree that cleverness will make up for having a heart in the proper place. You, I know, are determined not to engage with yours.” Her mother smiled. “But Tobio has made the choice to do so, and I had better not learn that he intends to rely on the training of his mind for _everything_.”

They laughed at her threat, and waited for Kageyama’s answer.

“It is apparent that Miss Shoyo does not doubt that I will do well enough in such matters,” he said. “Therefore I can have no reason to doubt it either.”

More teasing followed this, but he heard none of it, as Miss Shoyo beamed at him, eyes fluttering in excitement. With such encouragement to talk, he could not help but join in when she and her sister engaged Izumi to themselves. And when Sir Ennoshita would mock him, he found her more often than not on his side, indignant for him and herself, or if she did join the brunette in his aims to unsettle Kageyama, she did not do it in the ill temper she once had. It took only an afternoon for him to become well settled in this new arrangement of being her preference; his sister observed it, and let her amusement show to him in her face, but nothing more. The end of the engagement also saw him more well-disposed to Ennoshita than he had been since they met the Hinatas, for his goodbye to Shoyo was earnest, but detached, meaning to stand for a long period of time, and a period which would see to her change of status. In ado to Kageyama he showed the frank gallantry the gentleman had most appreciated him for while they worked together.

“I do wish you well, Kageyama, and have all faith that you are worthy of your lady. I may as well confess too that I think you rather overdue for happiness.”

 

On the seventh day of the visit, the two Hinatas and three Kageyamas were in the smaller parlor after dinner. Miss Keiji and Miss Shoyo played Miss Koushi and Mrs. Kageyama in a game of picture guessing, while Tobio observed. Shoyo was sorry when she caused Keiji to lose, but their mother was exceptionally pleased with the game, and Keiji could be nothing but happy while her mother exhibited so much vigor and endurance. They sat for some minutes in game-related laughter.

Talk moved to other things, none dwelt on with much attention, until Shoyo said, quietly, that as their visit was coming to an end, she was curious as to the impression she had made on the village. What did they think of her?

“From what I have observed in manners and overheard in conversation,” said Keiji, “The village is divided, by no means equally, into two opinions about you. Some think you odd and lively enough to be just a shallow attraction. They would accuse you of being very artful.”

“Artful!” said Koushi.

“Surely they can think no such thing,” his mother cried.

“They hope the engagement might be broken off, once my brother comes to see the evil in his choice.”

Her lips had curled into almost a smile. Shoyo waited to hear the second opinion.

“The rest of the village, I do believe the great majority, think that Sir Kageyama has found someone excellently opposite to him, his perfect compliment in manners and appearance. They consider him quite fortunate to have crossed lives with you in Karasuno.”

Shoyo laughed.

“This pleases me indeed,” she said. “To be the object of envy must mean that I have secured someone who more than just myself thought worth securing. I admit it gives me some small gladness.”

Koushi laughed. Kageyama and his mother looked put out. His sister said:

“I will never question your honesty hereafter.”

“Nor I yours, certainly,” Shoyo laughed.

His mother spoke more seriously.

“But you cannot want what such envy may bring. Those little meannesses between ladies are a thing I find quite undesirable, and highly unbecoming.”

“Oh no ma’am,” she said, “I want nothing of the kind, but you see I will be avoiding any of such when I go home tomorrow, and therefore can be a little pleased. So long as there is no lasting pain to the ladies.” She looked at him. “If Sir Kageyama was always as resolute as he claims in rebuffing them, I cannot imagine that anyone will suffer serious injury.”

“Distance and time should cure any and all,” said Koushi. “Unless, as you say, Sir Kageyama has been misbehaving to a serious degree.”

Shoyo’s laugh burst from her at his expression.

“His faith in my ability to forgive is distressingly small,” she giggled. “But I will not allow you to doubt for long, I will prove myself. I will.”

She smiled at him, but it was unneeded.

 

Breakfast on the eighth day was to be their last meal with his family. Shoyo was decidedly pleased with everything, and a little sorry to be leaving his mother and sister, even for the comforts of her own home and family. Mrs. Kageyama had dwelt on her brother and absent sister with interest, and Shoyo hoped she might one day fulfill the lady’s wish of having them come to stay.

It had been decided during the visit that his family would not attend the wedding; concerns about his mother being equal to the trip, about the bother of accommodations if only his sister should come, and of moving the wedding closer to where they were, all attributed to his relatives’ resolution of remaining where they were, and wishing the couple well from afar. Accordingly, on Miss Hinata’s side the concession would be made of admitting very few guests; it was not to be the grand village affair some might have hoped. Shoyo assured that such an arrangement would be highly preferable to her parents.

Shoyo had been right in assuming his sister’s approval was among the greatest objects to Kageyama, for he had almost total faith in her judgement of compatibility. She was not so sentimental as their mother, nor would she have let any personal objection to Shoyo influence her advice to her brother. Therefore, when Tobio and Keiji sat down early in the morning, as the Miss Hinatas had just been called to breakfast and were getting ready, he could not have been more gratified by anything than her saying:

“I think she will make you substantially happier than you have been these last ten years.”

“Do you.”

“She has the same indominable quality as you, though it is demonstrated in a different way. A pleasing way.”

He nodded.

“I had considered it a certainty that the woman of your choice would be argumentative,” she said. “But I rather thought she would also be coarse, simply because it is quite rare to find such a gentleness, a refinement, in the same person. In other words, you are luckier than I expected you to be.”

He had to smile.

“On the whole, her behavior, her sister’s, and your interactions together, has led me to conclude the same as my mother did seven evenings ago, by her inclination alone. In the choice itself you have achieved perfection.”

She allowed a moment for the glow to blossom inside him.

“Undoubtedly you will not find her perfect once you begin your endeavor to sustain a commitment. I know that she will not find you so. But there is every bit as much hope for you as any couple, I daresay.”

The girls arrived, and Miss Keiji was about to go up and retrieve her mother, when the news came down by a servant that a vengeful stiffness was settled into her joints this morning. It was beyond dreadful for the girls to hear that she could not make it to the table, but they dutiful insisted that they be brought to her bedside to take leave of her. Mrs. Kageyama was decidedly cheerful, and grateful for their attention to her, but all her smiling and well wishes for their trip could not keep the tears from Shoyo’s eyes. While Koushi shook her hand and said ado, Shoyo faced the wall and wiped hurriedly with her handkerchief. She did not think anyone saw her, but the circumstance itself was enough to quiet their last breakfast, and make the first leg of the journey solemn.

But the girls cheered as they neared home and began to think of all they had to tell their parents, then tell their sister in more detail, and then write to their brother about. Their brother fast became an object of joy when they did reach home, for her parents had already written to him, and his promise to be at Shoyo’s wedding was absolute.

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wedding bells!

Shoyo and Koushi had been home three days when a letter arrived in praise of them. Their parents read it before the girls knew of its existence, and were rather too pleased to speak. His mother and sister had written separately but similarly; both declared that they had never had better company. Danuja expressed her complete and eager approval of their marrying. Keiji dwelt more particularly on the conduct and the wit she admired in the girls. Shoyo shared the letters with her sisters in almost as much delight as those that had come from Kageyama. The parents’ reply was written and sent off the same day. In it they spoke of his respectfulness, her obvious fondness for him, and their faith in the match. Though neither party was currently aware, the exchange of letters was the start of a steadfast correspondence between two homebound sets of people, who even as such had not sacrificed a bit of social grace.

 

The day before the wedding, the entire village deemed it necessary to call on Miss Shoyo and wish her happiness, in the assurance that her parents could not reject visitors with such a pure motive. None were rejected, and the four siblings were not left to their parents’ company until dinnertime. Sir Narita had come with his parents, in the course of the morning, and smiled so big that Shoyo demanded immediately after his congratulations what on earth he was hiding, for he could not be so giddy on her account.

“I am glad you asked sooner than later, so that I not make a fool of myself in your last impression of me,” he said. “I have permission to make known to you, Miss Hinatas, that Hisashi and I are to be wed this fall.”

Their cries of rapture had to die down before he could continue.

“We determined, you see, Shoyo, that to get you back sooner than Sir Kageyama might have intended, we must settle on a date before the winter. And now your family may thank me for my contrivance.”

They did thank, and congratulate, and Shoyo would have remained beside herself the whole day through, if she had not had many more guests to attend to.

After dinner, the rest of the evening was spent in reading letters of congratulations; Izumi had sent her a page full of pretty thoughts, and Miss Takeda’s was almost as good, and sweetened by the fact that she was too shy to come calling to the house. Anyone who was too old or too sick to come see her had written, and it was perhaps her parents who felt most strongly the compliment to their daughter, and also felt most strongly the fear of her going much farther away from all those who loved and would care for her.

When their parents retired, the siblings did the same, but all convened in Shoyo’s room for reminiscing and much laughter. The room cooled by a few degrees when Daichi took his leave of the girls. As he squeezed her hands her throat closed up, and she could only smile and try not to let on how close she was to tears.

“I have always expected of the world that it would provide you every human happiness. I hope he will add incomparably to it. You are a terrific daughter and a terrific sister, and will be no less than such in your new station, though it may require more perseverance than the formers did.”

She blinked, and a tear leaked.

“You will always be dear to us, Shoyo. Let that help you in your more difficult days.”

“Daichi, thank you,” she whimpered, hugging around his neck.

When he shut the door, she had to turn to her sisters, who were both keeping their eyes low and hidden. But she welcomed their emotion with a sob of her own, and by springing onto the bed and tackling Koushi against the mattress. Shoyo needed her sleep, to look her best tomorrow, but they kept crying, it was all they could do, besides choking out various accounts of fun and joy and pleasure they had shared. Now all her things were packed up around them, and at this time tomorrow the room would be empty; no more tussled red hair peeking out of the quilt in the mornings, no more made up bird songs whistled and carried into the hall, no more of her laughing voice, or her indignant one, or the one she used only when she was telling them in earnest that they were dear to her. This would all belong to another. Her sisters would retain only the echoes of her that their imaginations could recreate, and the dim, dulled version they would have by letter.

 

The afternoon ceremony took place under blue and purple flowers, under a simple lattice archway, a short downhill walk from Karasuno’s temple. Shoyo wore pale pink, Kageyama dark blue, and they mostly did not look at each other. The five of her family were there, and the four Kinoshitas. Sir Kindaichi came in support and witness on his side. The vows were short, the replies shorter, and as they had agreed beforehand not to perform the first kiss in front of everyone, the climax amounted to his taking up her hands and aiming for a rosy cheek. She was too quick for him and pecked at the side of his face. Somewhat disgruntled, he returned the gesture.

The meal was to be held at her old home, and she and Kageyama traveled alone together. The carriage was not jittering so much as she beside him, and when he would finally look at her, the promptness with which she caught his eye explained her feeling clearly. He tried in severe determination to keep himself cool as he took her hands from her lap. He looked at them a long moment, then moved his eyes directly to her mouth and went forward. The red hair came surging and he pulled back. He looked in fear at her and sputtered out:

“I am sorry. I assure you. I did not mean to cause offense.”

She was smiling, nervously. “I went too quickly, I am sorry.”

She squeezed his hands. He looked down again; her smile was making him flush against his will. When he leaned, his eyes flickered to hers, then fell below them as he proceeded to his business. She stayed still, though tensing in her place. Their lips met.

He tilted his head and sealed his bottom over hers. Hot butterflies boiled up from her stomach. For a moment she felt threatened and afraid of being overcome, and her eyelids fluttered. The moment passed into a soft warmth, fuzzy at the edges, and she felt in dire need of a breath, but had never been less disposed to take one.

She gathered her mouth and gave a nudge back. As they kissed her hands slipped away from his, pushing up the insides of his arms and making her fall closer. Then the sensation began to sting inside her head, and they parted. A little ‘oof’ of a sound escaped her, and the blue of his eyes found her again.

He took them away too soon. She could not stop looking at him; when he felt it, he obliged her once more with a gaze, then another lean, and they kissed. Her hands slid into the crooks of his elbows. When he gripped her arms, something heavy rose in her chest.

A rough bump of the carriage jostled them apart. They returned to their forward sitting and were quiet, faces tinged with pink.

They ate crown roast and all of Shoyo’s favorite supplements. She bore cheerfully the embraces and well wishes of the Kinoshitas at their departure. But as her brother and two servants loaded her belongings into Kageyama’s carriage, and her mother and father embraced her and prepared her for their goodbyes, it became difficult to temper herself. Her sisters could not speak to her at all, only smile and squint back tears. Daichi returned to the house, and for a minute they were all collected as they gave her husband congratulations and encouragement. Her mother and sisters hugged him. Then they all turned to her, and it necessarily melted every defense.

Kageyama slipped out the door as she fell against her mother’s body and declared that she hoped she had learned enough from her parents. Then she hugged her father, then her brother, then her two sisters threw themselves onto her. Tadashi let out one sob against her shoulder, which made a smile break her sister’s face. Shoyo pulled out her handkerchief and wiped most of it away, then she turned and saw Kageyama watching from just outside. She smiled at him, and again at them.

“Goodbye,” was all she could say.

Before the driver could shut the door, Koushi and Tadashi came blazing across the lawn, the younger hefting Shoyo’s letter box.

“Your letters.”

She slid it under the seat.

“Shoyo,” said Koushi, pulling her down by the shoulder, “Another kiss for you, before you are loath to accept them from anyone but that gentleman.”

She bestowed it to her forehead. Tadashi rushed to do the same. They gave her pained smiles and backed away from the carriage.

“Thank you, my sisters.”

She waved, and the door shut.

Shoyo had to wipe her eyes again, but tried her best to be absolutely silent in it. She felt though that the best cure would be to talk herself to distraction, so she ventured:

“I am quite sorry, for all this.”

“Do not apologize,” was the reply.

“You are already used to being away from your family, but a young lady is not, and it is rather hard.”

“I do not disagree.”

“How long is it, again, before we arrive?”

“One hour and half.”

“I hope it passes quickly, I want to settle myself at my new home.”

Still her tear ducts were threatening her. What she wanted was those who loved her, and what she had was he who had just begun to do so. She seized his hand from his lap and put it in her own. She held it between her two, and would not check if he was looking at her. They sat this way for a few minutes. Then she sighed a little and returned his hand to his leg.

She was afraid of a silent trip; it would be absolutely unbearable to leave the cheer and clamor of her family’s house and be met with nothing but a quiet carriage, a quiet countryside, a quiet house. But she did not know if he wanted her to talk. He must be used to quiet carriages. Perhaps he intended to sleep. Her reservations were suddenly overcome by her delight in spotting a flax field ahead.

“Oh, look! I love the blue fields, they are so pretty, there is no color like them anywhere else. It is the closest thing to an ocean that I have ever seen, and it reminds me too of your eyes, so I have only grown more fond of them since meeting you. Are they not pretty?”

She faltered and flushed, afraid of annoying him with such an attack of enthusiasm. But he nodded, and was looking intently out her window. Worried, however, at his withholding a response, she said again:

“Do you find them pretty?”

“I do, but I rather prefer the yellow canola. It is more like you.”

She laughed.

“Why, how can you mean? My hair is not blond, and I hope my eyes are not yellow.”

He wrestled with his tongue for a moment, reddening as she watched him curiously. He finally said:

“I cannot explain the reason. It only happens that it makes me think of you.”

She smiled but could not think of anything to say. They were silent again, for a while, but it was not too long before he spoke to her again, directing her attention to a scattering of daisies beside the road. She leaned into his space to look, then leaned back with a soft blush. The ride continued in this way, with her going giddy over something on the landscape, and his occasionally pointing something out, and their smiling silences.

 

By the time they reached it, it was too dark to see the house, and she was excessively disappointed that the best view of all was denied them. When Kageyama noted that they were turning into the last lane, she said:

“Might we stop here at the bottom, and walk up the path? Will you walk with me?”

His look was confused, maybe skeptical, but he replied:

“If that is your wish.”

The vehicle was stopped, the pair deposited. They walked toward the house.

“We are married now,” Shoyo said. “Isn’t it odd?”

“How do you mean?”

“You must know how I mean. We will wake up in the same place, eat at the same table, and we now share a name. That is the most odd thing of all, I think.”

“Mrs. Kageyama does not suit your fancy?”

“Good grief, do not call me that! I am not at all ready to be called that, and certainly not by you.”

“Do you mean to offend me?”

“I mean only to tell you what not to do. Please, never say that.”

He could not retaliate, because she slid her hand into his, and smiled when he looked down at her. When they had reached the door and gone inside, she let go and was immediately hopping about in an excited sort of dance.

“What are we to do first? Shall we sit by the fire? Shall I play the piano while you read the paper? Should we have tea together?”

“As it is after ten, we should go up to bed,” he said.

“We will have every night hereafter to sleep,” she cried, “We cannot waste our first one away in such a manner.”

He bristled to retort, but saw her now flushing dark across her face.

“Are you all right, miss? Ma’am,” he corrected.

She seemed not to hear him.

“Yes,” she said, “Let us go upstairs.”

“What of your things do you need from the carriage? It will all be taken in by morning, but for now only what you must have to get you through the night.”

“Oh. There is a bundle with my family’s gifts, I wanted to open them right away.”

“We will fetch it.”

He beckoned to the servant waiting on the right. After he had departed, Tobio headed forward to the stairs. She followed him. As they climbed, Shoyo said quietly:

“Will we be staying in the same room?”

He turned back, looked at her a long moment, and said:

“I assumed we would be. That is a part of being married.”

“I know.”

They left the stairs and went down the third hall to the bedroom that she had never seen. It was double doored, and she grinned as he pulled them open. She skipped past him.

“My, it is quite big.”

All the lights mounted on the walls had been lit for their arrival. The walls were softly papered, and the floor cozily lined with rugs. The bed was centered between the windows.

“Do you approve?” he said.

“Of course, it is a very nice room.”

Then she turned to look at him, and saw something near a smile playing at his mouth as he moved across the room and set down his carpetbag. She continued to watch him, until the servant knocked at the doors and set her bundle inside. He wished them a good night and closed the doors behind him. Shoyo jogged over to retrieve the bundle. She set it on the rug at the foot of the bed, sat down with her legs under her and eagerly unpacked the contents. The lid of her letter box was not properly closed, and she opened it to find five sealed envelopes, with each of her family members’ handwriting shown in her name on the outside. She placed them back in the box, smiling broadly, and set it aside. Then she looked behind her, and saw Tobio watching from a chair near the adjoining powder room. His suitcoat was hung by the door and he wore his shirt only. She had seen him without a coat before, but in rather a different circumstance. She smiled to appear normal, then turned back to her gifts.

“I will leave the letters until later, they probably have the intention of making me cry, and that will not do for our first night.”

She reached for a peculiar box, thin and white. She took off the lid and found a cardstock with nothing on it but a “To Shoyo” and “From Mother, Koushi, & Tadashi.” She pushed aside the white paper, and her eyes went round. It was a garment, with the purpose, she assumed, of being worn for the expected consummation. It was sheer white, lined only in the cups, with straps thin as a flower stem. She recognized the stitching as her mother’s, and the lace trim at the neckline as Tadashi’s, and the circled tubes of ribbon crisscrossing in the back could only be her elder sister’s invention. It was pretty, and shocking. There was also a pair of panties, the smallest she had ever seen meant for an adult. She glanced over her shoulder, but jerked her head around quickly, thinking that if she caught eyes with him at this moment she might drop dead of shame.

Her death was subsequently ushered by the discovery of a second garment, in black. The design was different, and she was certain that her mother could not have had any hand in this one.

She heard movement behind her, turned and saw him leaving the chair.

“What—” he said, “—are you up to?”

She snatched up the tissue paper and hid the garments as he approached. She picked up a small wrapped package and held it up toward him with a bright smile.

“You may open this one, if you like. I believe it is from Hitoka.”

He stood by her as he tore away the white paper to reveal a little glass teacup with gold trimming.

“Oo!”

He spun the cup so that she could see the lettering on it, “August 12,” the date of their wedding. She stood up to see better. There were two tiny glass spoons, lettered on their handles in the same style. One read “Sir Kageyama Tobio” and the other “Miss Hinata Shoyo.”

“Oh it is darling, she is a darling—”

As he was examining a spoon, it had slipped from his fingers. She thrust out the front of her dress and caught it.

“You would have broken my heart on the spot,” she cried, “If it had shattered.”

She took the gift from him and crouched back down to pack it away.

“I will find somewhere to display them, tomorrow.”

Tobio walked away from her.

“I am going to dress,” he said.

“Oh, yes. And what is it you will be changing into?”

He looked blank.

“I meant to say—” her face burned red— “I meant to say, will we be going to sleep?”

He turned his back.

“We do not know each other terribly well, at present, so I assumed we would save more intimate things for another time.”

“That is fine,” she said, “Only you might have said so before we came up. I do not have anything meant to be slept in.”

She pushed aside the paper and raised the white top by its straps. She could not meet his eyes, but saw that he turned fast away from her.

“I will send for a second bag.”

Shoyo kept holding the garment, thinking that he may look again, and he did shift an eye to it. She flushed. He turned his back again and put his hands in his pockets.                       

“Unless it was your wish—”

“I would rather not, for tonight. You are making me too nervous,” she said.

“You would accuse _me_ , as you are holding this object and thus questioning?”

She put the garment back in its box and began to gather up her things.

“Go and change into what you first intended, and I will change out here, into whatever comfort I can manage. I will already be in bed when you come out, so you will not have to see.”

“To say that I will not have to, is rather—It is not as if it were a punishment.”

“Would you like to see?”

“We had better do as you suggest,” he said. “I am going now.”

He went into the powder room and shut the door. Shoyo hurried to place her gifts under a table, then hurried to the matching pair of wardrobes. She slipped out of her shawl and shimmied out of her dress, hanging them on the corner of the door. Then she took off her petticoats, slip, and stockings. Left in white panties and a molded breast supporter, she went to the bed and pulled the linen up to her neck.

Then she waited, listening to the ticking of the small clock on his bedside table. There was no sound from the other room. She thought all of ten minutes must have passed, before the door finally opened. Kageyama did not appear, but she heard his voice.

“You may put out the lights. Then I will be sure to see nothing.”

She paused, frowned, and declared: “You only want the lights out so that I will not see anything. You are embarrassed.”

“I am not.”

“Then put the lights out yourself, and get into bed.”

“It would be unfair for you to be tempted while I am spared.”

She laughed, a sharp giggle turned into a loud, bouncing chuckle. His head came around the doorframe so that he could glare at her.

“If I get up to put out the light, how will I know you are going to keep the door shut?” she said. “That is probably your plan.”

“It most certainly is not. I do not want to see you anymore than I want to be seen by you.”

“Well if you cannot put out the lights, and I cannot, then you will have to wait until I am asleep. But I will warn you, I am not nearly tired yet.”

“I do not need to wait,” he snapped. “If you do not care whether you see me, then it makes no difference to me to be seen.”

“If you are self-conscious, you could ask me not to look at you.”

“I am not self-conscious.”

“However, I will be a good wife and not look.”

She rolled over to face the wardrobes.

“That is your choice.”

She could not see when he hesitated longer. Then he walked into the room, in dark gray long johns buttoned all the way up, and blew out the lights on his side. But for two of them he had to move around the bed to hers; he went quickly without looking, until he could no longer help it and looked. Her eyes peered, smiled, over the sheets. She laughed and covered her face.

“You are so very embarrassed that it makes me embarrassed.”

“Laughing at someone is generally a good way to make them embarrassed.”

She put the covers down. “I did not laugh at you, and I never shall do so.”

He moved to his side of the bed, in the little moonlight from the windows, and stood looking at her. She rolled away again and huddled under the sheets. She stiffened when she felt his weight on the mattress; then she smiled to herself.

“Goodnight.”

He barely replied, but at the moment it could not vex her. She was married now, and sleeping in a new house, with someone just beside her. She had hardly had time in her short years to consider it, and was glad for that, because this was quite delightful, and she would not have been as happy in past if she knew she could look forward to this.

Tobio stayed awake, but she was quite soon asleep. He felt the slackness and heard the even breathing. He turned over, hesitated, then reached out and began to lift the sheets. She was on her back, with her hips turned away from him, and didn’t stir as he raised the sheets higher. He squinted in the dark, then set the linen back down and turned over to light a candle on his nightstand. He turned back and lifted the sheet again. There was a breath of a hum in her exhale. He waited, then lifted the sheet and bent closer, just to look at her. Her legs were shockingly bare, and he could not get his eyes to stay on them. Between her bottom and top garments was a revealed strip of midsection, expanding and sinking as she slept. He looked with anxiety. He had never seen before, of course, and now, he had permission. Or rather, he had a privilege where no one else did.

Just in time he tilted the candle back and kept the wax from falling. As the light moved it glinted off the ring on her hand. This made him almost smile. He huffed out the candle and moved back under the covers, facing away from her and hiding his pleasure against the pillow.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kisses and touches and medieval lingerie?? and walks and getting to know each other fluff

When in the morning he woke and felt a large weight on his back, he almost reacted with a panicked flailing of his body. But he realized that the weight was hers, she was lying nearly on top of him. It took more than a minute for his mind to regain function, enough to discern that her arms held him around the chest, and her knee was hooked against his. He stayed completely still and stiff, mind whispering that he was helpless, he could form no idea of what to do. He wondered, marveled, that he had not felt the initial touch of her in the night and woken then. His cheeks flamed up when he remembered how very little she had been wearing, and must still be wearing.

There was only one way to escape the flood of new feelings and new questions; he must get up. He began by easing her knee away, back into place beside her other. He felt her arms tense a little, but she made no sound. Little by very little, he slid out from under her hug. He was rather amazed when he made it out of the bed, without her suddenly leaping to her feet and crowing at him for waking her and taking himself away. Her eyes were shut soundly as ever. He pulled the covers a little farther over her shoulder. Then he left, telling himself that he should not look too long.

When Shoyo woke up alone, she was surprised in an unwanted way. But when she sat up and looked around, she saw the doors of the right wardrobe pulled open, and all her things hanging inside. She beamed and hopped over to choose what she would wear. Morning light streamed through the window and onto the spot she stood. She danced a little in its puddle.

Coming from the third floor to the first, she did not find him, but did not worry herself about it. She walked through the rooms of her new house, and looked out all the windows, humming at a glory of a morning. To wake up in a place she did not know, but a place she could still call her own, was a strange kind of waking indeed! She was about to turn and run up to the second floor, but then she heard him call.

“Mrs. Shoyo.”

She ran to him instead, mouth open in a silent laugh. He was near the front door. She jumped and threw her arms around his neck, weighing him down until he bowed over, then kissed him, pushing their noses together as much as their lips. A long hum came out of her, and she sagged in relaxation. He welcomed her pillowed lips, but his hands were firm on her waist, keeping a distance.

She felt a thrill, like running too fast down a hill and her feet starting to fall behind, but Kageyama was at the bottom, and when she recovered she was met with the strong drag of his jaw, his lips pulling over hers. She made sure to catch them and not let them get away. Then all at once the unfamiliarity intruded and parted them; he let go and she almost fell backwards.

She preserved the moment by laughing.

“What did you call me just now?”

“You said that you disliked your new name,” he said. “But I cannot well call you by the old one.”

“Shoyo will be fine. And if you ever grow really very fond of me, you might call me Sho.”

“We shall see,” he murmured.

“You should have woken me earlier. I like to get up when others are getting up.”

“I see. Are you hungry?”

“Yes!”

She followed him.

“What have we to eat?”

He described what he had had two hours ago.

“That sounds superb. And I suppose it will be alright if we take our breakfasts at different times, so long as we share our other meals.”

The cook was all but ready, had been milling over recipes and rallying every ingredient she possessed in the hopes of satisfying in whatever it was her mistress would request. The lady would have what he did, a simple staple of his, and she was rather disappointed at not being challenged; but the feeling was replaced by delight as she peeked at the kitchen door and watched how heartily the plate was dealt with.

“This is so strange,” Shoyo chuckled to him. “I do not know how to act like a wife. I did not pay any mind to how my mother acted in relation to my father, only in relation to us.” She paused. “When will I be a mother?”

“Not for some time, I hope.”

“And why in the world would you hope for such a thing?”

“In consideration of my profession, there will be an opportune time for such things, and it will benefit all involved to wait until that time. We will discuss it in more detail later.”

She shrugged it away, for now.

“What will we do today? Our first day being married.”

“Would you like to take a walk around the property?” he said.

“Yes, that is an excellent idea, I would love a walk.”

She finished her meal with diligence, picked up her plate and took it to the kitchen door. She knocked, and smiled and handed it to the cook when she appeared.

“Thank you for the meal.”

She skipped out of the dining room, and he followed.

“What is the weather like?”

“There is a breeze—”

“I will get a cloak.”

She hurried upstairs, and hurried back down, buttoning the wrap at her neck. They set off. Shoyo was eager and always jumping into the lead, only to fall back, as she did not know the best way to go. This never failed to amuse him, and as he strode ahead he might smile. They went along the fences that were closest to the yard, that staked out the fields that ran away into the distance from their house. She was cheered by those that remained unharvested, but mourned the ones that were already cut, until he pointed out that after they were harvested the animals were provided with a good food source from what was left behind. He explained about the farming and land renting in an utterly factual manner, which as he listened to himself he could only wonder at someone as high-spirited and unaffected as her enjoying, but she did nothing but smile and nod at him, when she could be prevailed upon to look away from the landscape.

When they had gone down the big hill, and could barely see the roof of the house anymore, he suggested that they turn back. To this she said she was determined to walk the whole walk, the entire line of his family’s property. He told her that such a walk was impossible for anyone not in excellent physical condition, and this achieved exactly the opposite of what he had wished to. She would now hear of nothing but their going the entire way.

They walked, and walked, and always seemed to be against the wind. Her cheeks got red, then pale, and he said again that they should go back, and could finish the walk another day. She said no. After a brutalizing series of hills, as she was huffing at the top, and him not much better off, he said again that they ought to stop.

“You are determined to prove my frailty,” she wheezed, “And I simply—cannot allow it.”

“You should know that you are not proving the opposite of frail,” he said, “If that is your intention. You are only proving to be stubborn, far beyond what will do you any good.”

She smirked, and tossed her head, and started down the hill.

 

More than a few hours later (hours in which certain servants had worried profusely), they returned to the house, freshened up, then sat down to another meal, both eating hungrily. The plates were removed, and she asked what they would do now. When he paused before answering, she went on:

“I will read my wedding day letters. Tomorrow I will write my thanks for our gifts, but do not expect me to put in a postscript on your behalf. You must express your own gratitude yourself. We may share an envelope, though.”

“This reminds me that the gifts from my mother and sister, as well as a few of my acquaintances, are here, to be opened.”

“Why did you not say so? Bring them in at once, let me see you open them!”

He had them brought to the sitting room on the first floor, where the couple settled in to open them, she being the more active in this. They were all wonderfully thoughtful gifts, by her account; there was a set of all the most popular novels from Sir Kindaichi, which she said they would read to each other on upcoming winter nights indoors, and there was a ring polishing set from a fellow lawyer, and a pretty vase painted by the wife of another lawyer. His mother had gifted her three newly released piano books, and him a set of the pens he favored, with a card slyly instructing that these only be used to write pleasingly to his wife.

The long flat box that had immediately excited Shoyo was protected by him until the last. She knew by elimination that it must be from his sister, and he was torn between fondness and exasperation at her utter cluelessness as to its contents.

“I told you, and she told you herself, that she is a designer—”

“Oh, hush, stop talking this instant,” she cried. “Your sister cannot have made a gown for me, have you really just ruined the surprise?” But she was still smiling like anything as she said “Please open it now.”

He maneuvered the lid off the long box, and she squealed and hopped forward on her knees. It was a formal gown, a very dark green with black lacing up the front, and long sleeves that ended in sheer lace trim. She could not find words for her feelings. He rolled his eyes a little, and was planning to leave the two of them alone, but after a minute she declared that she wanted it upstairs right away, so two lady servants were called to carry it with care as she walked beside and continued to admire. She hastily cleared a space on the wardrobe door, and they hung it inside, perfect for viewing whenever it should please her to do so. For now, she flew to her letter box.

He took up a book and a hard-backed chair, and his mind was just entering deeply enough to process on the material, when she laughed out loud. He turned sharply, but could not do or say anything while the laugh still played at her cheeks. He went back to his book, until she laughed again. He set it in his lap and looked pointedly at her, thinking she would feel it and be forced to acknowledge him. But she carried on with her letters, as engrossed as he was quickly becoming in her, as she smiled in certain ways, and rolled her eyes, and laughed again and again. He finally put the book completely aside, and settled back in the chair to observe her. Her smile was soft and lopsided now, and he flinched and retracted a little as he noticed tears. She swiped at her eyes with a knuckle.

“Ah, Tadashi,” she sighed.

Now she noticed his intent eyes, and shifted in some shame as she wiped harder at the tears.

“Would you like to read them?” she ventured, to distract. “They are full of warnings to me, but they may be some manner of warning to you also.”

“I would not touch your letters.”

“I have given my permission. Here, you may read my mother’s, it is almost all chastisement.”

After a moment, he got up, walked over and took it from her hand. She looked up and watched eagerly, but his face was not so expressive, and he was silent as his eyes scanned the lines. When his brow went up, she grinned and squeezed her hands harder in her lap, waiting for his comment.

“She seems to have a different idea about your spiritedness than I do,” he said. “I would give you rather more credit than is given here.”

She laughed. “You may learn in time to think as she does. She has known me in my more plaintive moments.”

He gave the letter back, and she put them all away.

“I have my nightgowns now,” she said then. “Shall I change into one?”

“Sleep would be appropriate, as we are tired from the walk.”

“If you are using ‘we’ as a kind of royal reference to yourself, that is a rather tiresome habit that I doubt I will be able to tolerate for long. If, on the other hand, you are using ‘we’ to refer to both of us, I must correct you, because I am not tired in the least.”

“I am not tired either.”

“Well, if neither of us is tired, there must be some other excuse for why we will go straight to sleep. Do you perhaps not find me as appealing in that way as you hoped?”

“Of course that is not the issue, do not start in with any such assumption.”

“I myself am nervous,” she said. “Last night in this room was the first time I have ever seen a man in drawers.”

“Of course, neither have I seen a woman, under the infinite layers of petticoats.”

“I suppose it is the matter of thinking I do not see a man, but my husband, and you do not see a woman, but your wife. To think in those terms makes it less difficult.”

“I suppose.”

A quiet.

“I am going to change now,” Shoyo said.

She unbuttoned in front of her open wardrobe, an action which only revealed a second set of buttons on her white lining dress. Even so he turned away from her, boiling in a blush, and put his hand into his peripheral vision for good measure. She was a little flushed herself, but kept her back to him and continued with her routine. When he next dared to look, she was working her dress over her head, and when he looked again she was stripped to her base layer on top and just stepping out of her slip skirt.

She bared her back with such suddenness that he could not form an idea of shielding his eyes. She reached to her maximum to retrieve a nightgown, then pulled it over her head and down so that it fell to her ankles. She sidestepped to the chair by the window and sat down to pull off her stockings. She glanced at him, with a smile, and eyes made pretty by the low light.

“I thought you would take the opportunity to change likewise,” she said.

“I must get my things.”

He crossed the room to the wardrobe next to hers. She passed by him and went to the powder room to wash her face. She came out, knelt on the bed, and watched as he removed his wool undershirt. He thought he heard a noise behind him, but had to ignore it, as his flush was working its way down his chest. He now stood in his britches.

“If you are looking, I ask that you stop for a moment.”

“Certainly.”

She rolled over in the bed and listened until it sounded safe, then turned back. His long johns were over his hips; as he worked one arm into a sleeve, his back was bare and straining, and she could easily imagine the heat of the skin, and the firmness, the realness, as it would be under her hands. She stayed rooted in stillness as he put in his second arm and buttoned the sleepwear.

When he turned, she was lying on her side, resting her head in her hand as she watched. He puffed out the lights, pulled back the covers and got into the bed. He saw her sit up, so he stayed propped on his elbows and looked at her. She smiled, then put her eyes to her lap.

“Your back is broad.”

As much as the words themselves, the tone with which she said it made him distractingly pleased with himself.

“It is not obvious when you wear a coat,” she said. “It tells me just how unfamiliar you are to me.”

“Unfamiliarity is the least of your concerns while you are asleep.”

She reddened.

“I did mean to warn you that I come very close while unconscious of it,” she said. “Both my sisters refused to share a bed with me because of it. If it is troublesome, we may have to make a different arrangement.”

But as she spoke, neither her tone nor expression could testify that she would be pleased with such an arrangement. He hurried to assuage.

“It is not, yet.”

He lay down. A moment later there was a touch on his shoulder, and he could not prevent the flinch as he saw her leaning over him.

“Give me a kiss goodnight. Please?”

He despised himself for hesitation, but he could not help being unused to the closeness, or how quickly she could enter his space. Without looking into the eyes that must have been building up with hurt in these moments of inaction, he put his hand on her neck and eased her down to him. He pecked her lips to fulfill the request. Then his hand slackened, and she responded by drawing back from him, but he was suddenly adding pressure again, and bringing his own head up off his pillow, to kiss her longer and more soundly. Their lips parted, a butterfly’s breath away, and their eyes fluttered. He closed his and kissed her again. One resonating ‘chu’, and another; then he let go and turned away to lie on his side. She touched her lips, then her dizzy forehead, then buried herself under the blankets to keep secret from him all the warmth that flushed her body.

 

When he woke the second morning, the midsection of his sleeping wife was pressed to his hip, and her legs were slung across his thighs. One arm was tucked in close to his side, and the other wrapped across his stomach and held him. He wondered again how he had managed to sleep through such a thing. He was just beginning to worry himself to death with how he would escape this time, when he recalled that she had given permission for him to wake her.

At first he was very ginger in his poking of her shoulder. As he grew bolder (and more irritable) he prodded more firmly, and finally gave a good shake to her arm. She opened her eyes and stared across the room. He froze as some fear returned. She pulled her legs off him and moved her eyes up to his face. She did not seem upset, only dazed. He swallowed.

“I am getting up.”

She let out a breath through her nose and rolled away from him. He got out on her side of the bed, turned and saw her slugging to her feet. She waddled around the end of the bed, crossing his path to go to her wardrobe. She pulled out a shawl and wrapped herself in it. Then she went to the window and looked out at the still, grey morning. He did not want to disturb the scene, and made no move while she remained at the window. Then she adjusted the shawl to cover her mess of hair and walked past him out of the room.

He splashed himself with chilly water, dressed, and went downstairs, finding her at the table in the dining room. She smiled, a heavy puffiness still under her eyes. He sat down and was brought his coffee. He offered her some. She shook her head.

“I would like milk, if you please.”

“Warmed?”

She nodded.

He drank, and when she was brought hers she did likewise. Whenever he looked at her, she smiled, and it grew more toasty as she drank her milk and warmed her fingers with the cup.

“You may find you like me better in the mornings,” she said, hoarsely. “I do not talk so much.”

“I believe mornings are made for quiet.”

She smiled.

Shoyo got up from the table.

“I will be back for breakfast. You may eat without me if I am too long.”

When she returned, clothed and glowing from a face scrub, it was to find that he had indeed waited. She beamed and took a chair closer to him than before. They ate together in quiet. After she had had her fill, she said in her usual bright way:

“What will we do today?”

“My foreman must show me a few fence sections that have come down, that we may decide whether they need repairing. Then I will have some law documents to complete.”

“While you are out I will write my thanks. Then when you come in to do your work, I will go for my walk.”

“Would it not be more appropriate to suggest we do our writing at the same time, to be near each other, since we are married?” he said.

“You would like to do your work without interruption, and so would I. We do not have to always be together, do we?”

“Of course not. I was only saying that it is not the suggestion I would expect of a woman.”

“You will have to learn very quickly not to include me in broad assumptions about my gender. It is almost the best way to set me off.”

He studied her for a moment, then said evenly:

“It is almost the best. Then what is the very best?”

She smirked. “I am sure you will discover it in a short time.”

 

Thus, they spent their second day apart, for a portion. Returning from her walk, and finding him just putting away his papers, she declared the place to be solemn and lonely to a grave extent.

“On my old walk there was a creek to talk to me, and many animals about, gentle ones who would stay within a foot and not be bothered by my company, and I could look at them and adore them, and the wind would make pretty sounds in the trees. Here there is nothing, and there is quiet.”

“That is what I most enjoy about living here,” he said.

“I do not find it absolutely unbearable, but in due time I may. What will you do then?”

“By the time such feelings overcome you, I depend upon your having at least one self-made distraction.”

She dragged the extra chair up to his writing table and sat down.

“Do let me hear this plan of yours.”

He sat up tall and quietly cleared his throat, as if he were about to address a courtroom. She barely checked her laugh.

“As you know, my busy seasons are completely independent of the calendar changes, and in large part unpredictable. I can, however, predict that the retirement of one of the firm’s oldest and most loyal attorneys will necessarily place on those who remain a greater burden. Until the firm can settle its accounts and assignments, which may take as much as a year, I have no wish of a pregnant wife or an infant, to be left at home whenever I am called away.”

She was interested in hearing about his work, and said nothing to interrupt.

“There is also the matter of a particularly high-profile case I have been assigned to lead, a most difficult case which has already required over a year of research. It is estimated that the jury may possibly take more than two weeks to deliberate on this case, and that even in the event of a decision, appeals are sure to be filed on the losing side. As it concerns our personal affairs, conception of a child ought to occur directly after the conclusion of the first trial, that I might have sufficient time before the birth to prepare the lawyer who proceeds me, and hand over the charge of this client.”

“That is a fine idea,” she said, “Only you must know that a child may be born at any time it likes, not necessarily the time it is set to come.”

“But the likelihood of that is not good. I am confident that it will come within the expected timeframe, and that I will have my replacement well-placed for the appeal.”

“I know that you are a sensible man,” said Shoyo, “And I see no harm at all in having such a plan. My only question is, whether we will be celibate up until what you consider your desirable period.”

“For myself, I hope that we will not be.”

She did not open her mouth for some moments, afraid of stammering. Finally she declared that she was going to play the piano, and left him to blush and be impatient with himself.

He gave her three quarters of an hour before he came to the doorway to listen, for he was genuinely fond of music, and it had been some time since the house he occupied had also held someone capable of playing. He listened in pure pleasure for another twenty minutes, soothed by the trails of well-executed melody, and humored by her huffs and whispered curses when she was forced to repeat a measure until the mistakes smoothed away. When she closed the instrument, he stepped into the room, and when she turned she started out of her shoes.

“Do not do that ever again!”

He bowed his head. “It was not intentional.”

She dropped her hand away from her heart, still with a little glare at him as she approached. When he cleared his throat, looking apprehensive, she stopped in her tracks.

“I thought that if we had an early dinner, say, before the end of this hour,” he said, “We would perhaps have time, after digestion and before bed, for other things we may want.”

She was flushing, but that she smiled through it made his heart press hard against his ribs. She nodded eagerly, then tiptoed past him.

 

Later in the evening, she stood in the powder room in front of the full-length mirror, wearing her white garments. She pursed her lips, puffed her cheeks, and called through the crack of the door:

“I do not think I can bear to be seen in this.”

“If you are embarrassed it will be impossible for me to look at you. It may be best to wear what you would sleep in.”

She thought hard, frown lines creasing. Then she took a wrap off the hook by the door and draped it over her shoulders. She held it to herself and marched into the bedroom, ignoring him and moving straight for her keepsake chest in a corner. The wedding letters were pushed aside, and she retrieved the ones that almost always held the spot at the top of the pile. She flicked through them, recalling the date and pulling out the envelope that held the first unsigned letter of his.

“What are you doing?”

She hunched further, suspecting he would ridicule her if he knew the truth. She was beaming, as usual, when she finished it. She tucked it back away, closed the chest, and moved to her wardrobe. She hung up the wrap, using its swish to mask her deep breath, and turned toward the bed, where he sat.

Everything that had been a drawback and a cause for distress while she was looking at herself was now a favorable detail and a source of pride, when she showed it to him. The sheer fell just over the tops of her thighs, leaving a virtually unobstructed view of the white panties hugging her hips, squeezing so that her thighs pudged out of them a bit. The chest V was gentle, flattering her small bust. When she moved, air breezed through the material, tickling her in a sensual way.

“I want you to have me,” she said, starting to approach. “So there is no need for my nerves.”

His head snapped away from her, dark hair swinging over his forehead.

“That is not—A lady should never wear such a thing, it is in every circumstance inappropriate.”

Shoyo’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you suggesting about the ladies who made it for me?”

“I should not be seeing you in this way, no matter that you are my wife.”

“It is white, and pure and virginal for that. And its purpose is to excite passion, if that is a feeling you are afraid or ashamed of—”

“You look like a scandal,” he hissed.

She was torn between horror and hurt, and resentment. The latter won out and she glared. Then she turned and went back to her wardrobe.

“It was only for your benefit,” she was saying. “I do not need it. Though it is a shame their gift to me could not be used, it is no serious consequence to my determination.”

With that, she pulled off the top garment, slipped out of the bottoms, turned and walked naked toward him. He nearly fell as he rushed out of bed.

“You are a madwoman! Who taught you to behave in such a way?” he said to the wall.

“Why are you afraid of me? I am a woman, not a predator.”

“What I see does not confirm your statement.”

“You do not see anything, you will not look at me.”

Standing on her side of the bed, she slowly gathered up the quilt and covered herself, holding it at her chest.

“I am your wife.”

“You do not need to give a sermon.”

“I will share my body with you. Unless it is not worth your trouble.”

He put his hand into his hair and sighed. “I have already told you not to practice your sex’s self-depreciating tactics with me.”

“And I have told you not to categorize me within the larger assumptions of my sex!”

She stomped her foot as her mouth twisted furiously and could not form words. When she was able, she continued:

“If you were not prepared, you only needed to tell me so, you did not need to humiliate me. I will tell you now that I do not appreciate it, and there is no likelihood of me staying long if you continue that practice.”

“I do not want to have an argument and sleep apart from you,” he said.

“I hardly see another way, at this point.”

Her voice had tightened, forewarning tears, and it made him turn, though still weary. When he saw that she was covered, he could look more steadily at her.

“I did not mean to upset you. I was taken by surprise.”

Her brown eyes cast back, blinking and clearing a little of wetness.

“Get into bed,” he said. “I will put out the lights.”

She stood looking until he made a sure move. Then she crawled under the covers, smoothing the top quilt back out as best she could. She watched him leave one light flickering, and turn to her with a shadowed face. He came to the bed and eased under the sheets. She felt her heartbeat start to throb up in her throat, and quickly scooted herself onto her back. He lay beside her, propped on his elbow, and with his other hand slid through the linens and found her bare arm, which was prickly from goosebumps. He ran his hand up and down, a few inches at a time. He leaned in and kissed her hairline, then continued to touch her arm.

She forced herself to swallow, then speak.

“You worked yourself into such a fuss. How come?”

“You are much more forward,” he murmured. “You have no reservations. I felt my pride breaking down, and I suppose I tried to defend it.”

“You should not have.”

There was no answer from his lips, but she was distracted enough by his moving up to his hands and knees beside her, and sliding his hand across her stomach. His fingers were a little rough over her skin, but his palm was smooth. Her insides churned up like she was riding a carriage down a steep hill. She needed something to hold onto, and found his hand, keeping it pressed to her side. His eyes were not on hers, but she watched them, glimmering like an ocean under night. With his free hand he pulled the blankets down, enough to reveal her breast. He leaned near to breath the taste of her skin; she willed her heart to run to the other side of her chest, afraid he would feel the rampant pulse of it. Heat was spreading from her belly. She tried to push her thighs together without his noticing.

Her smell was comfortably warm, and clean like spring growth. His nose brushed the side of her breast. Then he pushed a kiss to the spot. How could he have known that under all the scratchy materials, ladies hid such softness as could rival kittens? He felt her hand touch his knee. He continued the lightest of kisses around her breast. When his teeth skimmed her flesh she muffled a gasp, after which he grew afraid to continue so close to her. He straightened back with his hands on either side of her, and she looked up at him, alive with breath and light in her eyes. The only sound was their uneasy breathing.

He cupped his hand at the place he had kissed; against his touch he could feel her heartbeat. He allowed his eyes to go once over her upper body, and they caught on a small dark spot, between her breast and where her arm began.

“Is this a scar?”

“A birthmark,” she said.

He put his lips to it. How painfully endearing.

As he went on with kisses up her neck, he almost felt sorry for himself. Certainly no other man would pity him, but this was, in fact, not what he had signed on for when he took a wife.

She had turned her head, urging him to come to her lips. They kissed. He gripped her small shoulder. Soon, too soon, for him, she put her arm around his neck. At the pressure he ached, inside and all over. As she pulled him in to her it hurt, somehow. But rather than move away, he fell farther into her lips, and his fingers gripped her neck and slid through the bottom of her hair. She released a little huff of sound that made him suddenly weak all over, and he let his muscles collapse into the mattress next to her.

“You are not afraid of me,” he said, as she was turning eagerly to face him.

“Oh goodness, no, and you are not afraid of me, are you?”

In answer he rolled over. She made a sound between a giggle and a gasp, and angry heat splotched over his face as she pressed against his back and put a hot hand to his neck.

“Why, but how can that be?”

Her lips were far too close to his ear, and he shivered and shrugged his shoulder. This only succeeded in bringing her closer, so that her arm was now draped over his, and her bare chest flush against his back.

“I hope that you are lying,” she said. “You cannot be afraid of me. That would make me quite miserable.”

And she kissed his neck.

“It is not your aim to make me miserable, is it?”

His replying was prevented by another kiss from her. Then her hand moved up his arm and across his chest, until her fingers caught on the buttons of his long johns. He turned his head, wholly pleased to see the pink rising in her cheeks. It encouraged him to move onto his back. She squirmed away and hid herself deeper in the quilt. But her hand was still on his chest, and a glance at him gave her the courage to slip the top button out of its buttonhole. Two fingers dipped into the gap and traced over the taunt skin. With the hand closest to her he reached through the sheets and found her knee, curling his fingers behind it. For several moments she was still. Then, with another look at him, and another assurance, she moved to undo the next button. Her breath was quick and warm against his shoulder. As her fingers tiptoed over his chest he felt his tangled, gnarled emotional defense unraveling, and found that he did not care that it weakened and coiled away, leaving him bare to her. Really he did not care about anything, his only aim was not to disturb her. The kisses to her temple and cheek were as unobtrusive as he could make them. She undid the third and fourth buttons and pressed and rubbed with her hand. He wished he could avoid breathing so deeply; while she was this close, every bodily function, no matter how vital, seemed unattractive.

Suddenly she had undone several more buttons and her hand was running rapidly over his chest and the upper half of his abdomen. The friction made his skin in other places crawl. He twisted farther toward her, and their eyes met. She stayed her hand, looking apologetic. He settled farther onto his side, and leaned to kiss the corner of her mouth. Her hand dipped slowly to the lowest undone button, and she swept her fingers across what was yet unrevealed. He kissed her face, and no longer opened his eyes. He could smell her all over the bedding, and could feel her hand’s curious touches, and the smiles that tweaked her lips when their cheeks were pressed together. Somewhere in the midst of this, they fell asleep, and it became a very good dream.

When he woke up, she was lying directly on his chest, naked, clinging to his upper body. Her legs were woven into his. He thought again as he had last night, that he had overestimated his ability to handle this woman.

 

On the sixth day of their being married, he was obliged to return to work. He planned to leave early and quietly, as was his habit, but as he had the door held for him she was suddenly hurrying down the steps and scolding him at the same time. She hopped down the last three to land at his feet, and looked up with a pout.

“I will always send you off when you go away,” she said. “That is proper.”

Then she pulled on the front of his coat. When he leaned, she kissed him.

“I will see you again in?”

“Five days from now,” he said.

“All right. Goodbye.”

She skipped off in the direction of the dining room.

“Do not get yourself into trouble.”

She looked back with a grin. “You offend me!”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stem the tide of boring decorum and ye shall be rewarded WITH SMUT

He had always waited until the light of a new morning to start the trip home. But now it was 10 o’clock in the evening, dark but no temperature to fear, and the prospect of the bed he shared with her appeared a much better one than remaining for another night in his quarters. She expected him to come tomorrow, and this only strengthened his resolve to come tonight and surprise her in probably the single instance he would ever be able to. If he could manage not to wake her, and she discovered him in the morning, he imagined her delight in such a thing would be great, and many smiles would be his reward. The carriage was ordered.

The house was all in dark, except for a servant who had been making the nightly round and come across her master. She lit a second candle for Kageyama, who made his careful way upstairs. He eased open one of the doors to their room, only to find all the lights lit within, and her on her feet.

She was staring, momentarily terrified. Then she surged forward and jumped at him, knocking him into the closed door and hugging him around the neck as if she had done no such thing. He was disappointed, but there were smiles at least, and she huffed a sigh that was exasperated and relieved, and amusing to him.

“What are you doing awake?”

“Well I—This is such a big house, when one has no companion, and I have been—It is rather more difficult than I had thought, with my piano and my letters, four whole days and nights—But why have you come early? This was to be your fourth night away, and yet you are here, why would you start out on the road so late?”

“I decided to.”

She laughed. “That was an opportunity to say something pleasing to me, such as ‘I could not stand to be away from you any longer.’ What I suspect is that your frightening me just now was on purpose, and that is very cruel. Come here.” She took his hand. “I will help you undress.”

He did not move when she tugged at him.

“What is it?” said Shoyo. “Four days away and you are afraid of me again?”

His legs slowly gave in to her force. She added her other hand to his to encourage him further.

“You act as if I am always scheming against you,” she said, “And I do not know what I have ever done to justify such suspicion. I only meant that I have been rather bored and lonely in your absence, and that I want to help my husband after he arrives from a long trip. Stand here now.”

He had pulled one arm out of his coat, and she slid it off his other shoulder and took it away to hang. She returned to his side as his hands worked mechanically down the buttons of his vest, and she guided him to the chair beside his wardrobe, sat him there and knelt to untie his shoes. Then she stood by to take the vest when he removed it, and wait for the shirt he unbuttoned.

“Is there any particular excitement in town at this time?” she asked.

“Not that I have heard of.”

“And how was your work?”

“Fine.”

“That satisfies me, I suppose. You like to go.”

“I like to come back also.”

“There,” she smiled, “Now you say something I am happy to hear.”

She got into bed. He came a few minutes later from the powder room and joined her. When she continued to sit quietly, he gave a questioning look, and she smiled distractedly.

“Will you give me a kiss?”

Promptly his hands came to her neck and his lips to hers. She pressed her palms against his chest.

It was she who pulled back. Their eyes met for a moment, and he took his hands away.

“It is late,” she said, “And you must be tired.”

She lay down, and he did the same, but he waited, and she did not turn away to her side. He swallowed and prepared to speak, only she was too quick.

“But this suspense is not ideal, for myself, I must admit.” She huffed. “I would like to have things over with, sooner rather than later. If you do not yet feel prepared, you will simply have to hurry yourself along.”

He had listened intently, and as soon as she looked his way, he spoke.

“I propose that we make the first attempt tomorrow. We will have all the time in a day, and we can neither of us be tired tomorrow. If such will put you at ease…I wish you to be at ease here.”

“Tomorrow will please me just fine, thank you.”

She reddened at her own words, and without another one turned her back on him and settled against the pillow, quilt tucked under her chin.

He was tired, but he began now to worry, instead of to sleep.

 

In the early afternoon the next day, they sat dull and listless in the second floor drawing room. She had played the piano for two hours in the morning, and they had gone for a fair walk. Now they sat hardly speaking, neither with any idea of what else could be done to while away the time. Tobio had a book open in his lap, but his eyes were blank at the floor. Then her chair creaked, her skirt swished, and she spoke.

“Do you hear that? A carriage?”

He gave a slow nod, frowning. “A carriage.”

“A carriage, who can it be?”

She flew to the window, and at her gasp he started, thinking she had fallen out of it.

“It is _our_ carriage! And our horses! Someone of my family is here, oh who is it, what a lovely surprise they have given me! Let us hurry and go to meet them. Will it be my sisters? Would my parents come so far, and so soon? Can they miss me so much already?”

Her voice died out as she ran out of the room and down the stairs.

She waited at the door for as long as she could bear, for him to come and give the proper welcome beside her, but she finally lost patience and threw open the door, hurrying onto the walkway.

“Father! My dear Father!”

He was halfway up the path, and she nearly sent him rolling back down it with the force of her embrace.

“What are you doing here, Father, and why did you not tell me you would come? It is very good of you, I am so glad to see you.”

His smile would not allow him to speak at first. Finally he cleared his throat.

“You look as well as ever, my dear.”

“Oh, thank you, and so do you.”

He chuckled.

“You came so far, so soon,” she said. “Have you been worried about me?”

“Only as much as I have constantly been, for all your life,” he said. “My worry has become a companion, and not a wholly troublesome one. I rather like to worry about you, I would miss it if the feeling went away.”

She smiled and laughed.

“Father, do not speak so, I am not grown up enough yet to understand you.”

She hugged him again. When she pulled back, his face was more serious.

“Are you here by yourself?” he said.

“Oh no, Kageyama came last night from town and we have been together all day. I only did not wait for him to come down, I know that I should have and I am sorry to dishonor you in my conduct, but I confess to you, Father, that I know very little about being a wife and the mistress of a house, and have so much to learn and practice. Here he is now, I can at least give him a good presentation to you.”

“I am glad to call on the both of you,” he said.

She led Keishin by the hand up to the house, where Kageyama had come and waited.

“My father has come to call on us.”

“We are pleased to see you,” said her husband. This took her by surprise, and prevented her planned introduction.

“I offer my compliment of the grounds,” said Keishin. “Everything is set up to simple advantage.”

He acknowledged it with a bow of the head. “I suspect it will show more of your daughter’s touches as time goes on.”

Keishin smiled, and she laughed.

“You have not given an account of your coming, Father,” she said then. “What did you mean by not writing us?”

“I was aware that today’s business would take me northward, but I was required to come farther than I expected. When I found myself to be half the way here, there was no longer a question of whether I would finish the journey.”

“It was good of you,” said Kageyama.

“Oh yes, it was,” she said. “Will you see the house? And might you stay for tea, or for dinner?”

“I would see this grand house, if admitted. As to your other offers, we shall see.”

“Come in, come in—” and she toddled ahead of them to the door.

Kageyama was silent as Shoyo gave the tour in her own way, which was to say, abandoned midsentence her attempt to give a description or detail, in favor of inquiring after her old home.

“Is my mother in good health?”

“She does not complain.”

“And my sisters?”

“Are forlorn, but it will pass.”

Still, her face showed concern. “My...”

“They are gone often from the house, by my perception. They would visit the Kinoshitas, or Miss Nano.”

“Oh, I miss Nano. And Hitoka of course.”

“Have you had other callers than myself, as of yet?” said her father.

“No, you are the very first. We have not been here long, after all, and there can hardly be many who know where to find us anyhow.”

He made no answer to this, but caught the eye of her husband as Shoyo went ahead to open the next door. Kageyama was prompted to make a polite but impersonally inquiry after the health of his horses.

“They are nearly as retired as myself. The ladies of my household hardly ever request their use. Though perhaps they will be having their proper exercise soon, with Shoyo some distance from us. Of course my daughters would not hope to be unwelcome by you, sir, and it would certainly deter them if they found that they were.”

“You may assure them, on my behalf,” he said, “That they will always be warmly received here.”

Shoyo was smiling.

“Yes Father, you must tell them I have found no cause yet to fear their coming here, and have been told that I never shall find any.”

In this manner it took them over an hour to reach the third floor.

“How does it suit you to have your own charge of the servants, my dear?” said Keishin.

“Oh I like them, each and every, very much. They did their best to cheer me while Kageyama was away, and they are very particular about finding my likes and dislikes.”

She had not exactly answered his question, and he looked to her husband. Kageyama had taken notice too, but he was privately smiling at her reply.

“Am I to understand,” said her father, “That you do not miss your old Miss Yaku? I will not tell her so, it would surely break her heart, for only two days after you had gone, she came to me to say that if Miss Shoyo should be unsatisfied with the help at her new home, or if she should ever be seeking to fill a position, or if she were lonesome for something of the familiar, Miss Yaku would be willing on any day, at any hour, to leave her current establishment, satisfactory as it must be, to wait on you.”

“Did she say as much?” she cried. “Half so much is far too much on my behalf. Good lady, how devoted of her, I do miss her dearly. And to think that she has put up with so much from me, for over half my life, and would be willing still to do more! A truly good-natured woman she is. Please tell her so, Father, and promise her a visit from me, sooner than later.”

Having seen the house, her father had no complaint and all respect for it. She coaxed him to sit for tea in the second-floor parlor, and they talked of the foretold harsh winter the country was to have, and other such topics which Kageyama could have a share in, and which Shoyo did what she could to forward, that he might do just that. Her father could only be pleased (only a very small, very deep part of him was not) with how they seemed to be getting along together, and went unaware that his presence was as good a distraction as they could have asked for. In spite of the pleasure he took in their company, however, and in spite of the sweetness of the pleas from his daughter, he would go home before evening set in, and leave them to their dinner.

Tobio took the seat at the end of the table. She left a chair between them and sat down on his left. They ate, and tried, disinterestedly, to keep talking of the things her father had brought up. By the time the second course arrived, however, she was out of things to say, and he seemed uninclined to provide her any assistance. Until, as she was looking at him covertly, he said to the table:

“It is unfortunate that my father cannot wait on you, as your father has been so attentive as to do to me.”

Her eyes widened.

“I suspect too that he would have contrived of a way to have my family at the wedding, with little inconvenience to anyone, and with special consideration of my mother’s health.”

She struggled for words.

“I daresay that ours would have been a different affair, were your father present.”

“We do not ask to have him back,” said he. “My family has always agreed to that. He died honorably, few can claim as much.”

Instinctually, hardly noticing what she did, she moved into the nearer chair.

“I do not recall your mentioning your father,” she said, “In the time I have known you.”

“Perhaps I have not mentioned him.”

She did not dare say more, but her eyes stayed on him, and hopeful.

“He died on the same day, and in the same manner, as Sir Kindaichi’s father, as it were,” said he.

“Is that so?”

“It was in winter, in town. He and Mr. Kindaichi were there on business, they did much of their business together.”

“I see.”

“I was at school, and my father had just been to visit me the day before.”

She could not restrain her gasp. He seemed to appreciate her earnest attention, looking at her as he continued.

“There was a terrible fire in a hotel near their lodgings, numerous gas explosions had the building consumed within minutes. Women and children were trapped inside, and our fathers joined a rescue force. They gained access to a room where a mother and two daughters were screaming, but as they brought them down, the staircase collapsed. My father, we were told, threw the girl he was carrying, and she made it into the reach of another rescuer, escaped the building and survived. The mother and second daughter, and my father and my friend’s, did not survive.”

She hardly knew how to respond. His hand was under the table, and she decided to reach and find it on his knee, and pat it compassionately. Her throat hurt, and her eyes weakened for a moment, but she saw that his face was passive as it had been before. He had meant to share with her, not put her in a low mood. So she squinted away her tears and worked her throat open.

“What a wonderful, good person,” she said. “I do wish that I had been given the honor of meeting him.”

“He would have been profoundly fond of you,” said Tobio.

He looked surprised that the words had come from his own mouth, and her smiling under a flush hardly made things better. But he knew that this time he could not shy away, because there was nothing else to be done but what they had been waiting to do, and because in telling her what he had, he broke down a small section of the barrier between them. The next logical step was not a backward one.

“Do you wish to wait until a later hour?” he said.

“No, I do not wish to wait, I am sick of waiting, and physically tired of it.”

He stood up.

“Then—” He walked up to her, with the appropriate amount of meekness, and offered his hand. “Come with me, if you please.”

She gave her hand, and he guided it through his arm and placed it at his wrist. They were linked this way as they walked up the stairs.

“What is it that you would like me to wear?” she said.

“That is entirely a matter of your choice.”

When they came into their room, she drew her arm away and went to her wardrobe. He moved the opposite way to the powder room, hanging his coat as he went in.

He returned, shirttail hanging loose, while she was in the process of pulling the top garment down over her chest. When she looked at him he dropped his eyes. He came to his wardrobe as she smoothed the garment over her hips.

“It seems silly, to put it on only to have it off again,” she said. “But as my mother approved it, I assume that is how things are to be done.”

She tried to catch his eye again, but he was determined against it. So she said:

“I will wait there for you.”

And she waited on the bed, until she realized she still had her nylons on. She pulled them off and got up to drape them on the near chair. He met her at the bed in his long johns, and she hurried to sit in her place. He sat on the same side, and began to unbutton, still not looking at her. It made her impatient, especially as he was making her so particularly fond, tucking one bare foot under himself and hiding the other close to the side of the bed. She watched the way his fingers fumbled with the buttons. She watched a swallow slide through his throat. She was pleased with the ways his body differed from hers, and she wanted him to be pleased likewise.

“Can’t we begin now?”

His blue eyes were obviously surprised, but it did not matter what they looked like, as long as she could see them. She lurched forward to grab his neck and kiss him. Several deep moments later she came to herself and retracted. Now she was afraid of his eyes, but could feel them seeking her; she met him for just a glance, then he leaned and initiated another kiss. She settled her arms around his neck as he continued to struggle with his buttons. The fifth was being especially stubborn, and in a moment of hotheadedness as her mouth opened against his, he jerked on the fabric and ripped the button free. Shoyo pulled back from the aggressive motion, watching as the button rolled across the rug. She laughed.

“Now that will have to be mended.”

He nudged at her side, and she lay down. She watched him pull his arms out of the sleeves. Her own arms were suddenly weak under her and she searched hastily for a pillow to support her. If Kageyama’s back was broad, his chest would be equally so, but she had not thought of it, and felt in this moment decidedly unprepared. His garment sat in a bunch at his waist as he got up onto his knees and edged closer. He was still looking somewhere else, until he bent over and put his hands on either side of her, and then gave her his eyes, boring through her with their vulnerability, with obvious want but accompanying questions to her of how he should direct it.

Her whole heart was in her smile. This caused him to flush, which made her want to smile more, but she put her hand over her mouth to hide it. Her eyes jumped away then back to him, sparkling. She propped herself up to reach him for a kiss. He added pressure and moved her back down.

Her hand trailed along the mattress until it found his. Their lips came apart again, and she swallowed, preparing to invite him to touch more of her body. But it occurred to her that she could not call him by the name she always had, it seemed ill-fitting to the circumstance. So out of her mouth, before she could reconsider it, came:

“Tobio…”

She blushed, and he stared and blushed. Distractedly he put a kiss to her cheek. She turned her head on the pillow and smiled at the room. Now thoroughly unsettled, Tobio straightened up and rested his weight on top of his legs, rubbing his neck and looking away. Every of his movements was watched by her, and the interest in his anatomy grew until she found herself sitting up and leaning forward, feeling dreamlike as he hulked before her. He might be cold to the touch, he seemed so unreal in size and shape, so imagined. But she touched him, and his side was warm, and the skin twitched and the muscle flexed under her fingers. There was so much muscle, and so much skin.

She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face to his deeply flushed chest. She raised her head, brushing up with her nose, and her eyes fluttered open when she felt him expanding, chest growing impossibly with his breath. One hand slid to his neck, and she mapped instinctive kisses up his throat. Her other hand came to his neck to hold him more firmly against her lips. When he breathed again, she mirrored him, and their chests pushed together and she inhaled his scent.

She felt his fingers in the back of her hair, and felt him hunch down, allowing her to reach more than the comparative height of her midsection had allowed. She wanted to touch him with her lips again, was attempting to, when she felt a hand slipping under the fabric of her garment and settling, tentatively, against the curve of her side. A shiver straightened her posture. Then his hand moved to her back, and she relaxed against its brace, as he bowed his head over her shoulder and kissed under the bottom of her hair and on the bump of her neck. She closed her eyes and rubbed her hands up and down the firmness of his back. He kissed her shoulder, and his arm went farther around her waist, and now she felt one form of the longing in her soothed away, filled up; she felt owned by him, as someone he would keep in his arms, he would protect, he would not allow to forget who she belonged to.

Fulfillment was a maddeningly temporary sensation. For one instant in time she felt the heaviness of it settling her in her place, snug and content to move no longer. The next moment she wanted fulfillment of another kind, wanted to feel again the powerful surge of its setting in. She put her hands behind her on the bed for support as she brought her thighs over his, shifting forward and sliding their skin together, legs against waist. She longed for pressure, but she stopped too far from him, expecting and willing him to provide for her, as he had before. He was still, however, and she looked up imploringly. He was surprised to see her eyes at this moment, and shied instinctively from them. She was insistent, moving her hands from the bed to his shoulders and still looking up to him.

His hand moved off her neck and back into her hair, and when he brought her head close to him she accepted the positioning. He was slow, but sure, as he curled his arm and drew her properly into his lap. She sighed over the ease with which he could move her weight; she wished he would lift her, toss her into bed, hold her waist up off the mattress to gain access to her, but she supposed that would be something for another night. Now it was enough that his instincts had overcome his reserve, that both hands were at her hips and pressing down in a steady rhythm, giving her a twinge of pleasure each time she came against the firm tent in his underwear.

One bump against him made a sound spill from her, short and high and bounding across their quiet room. She tensed, and he stopped moving.

“I…”

There was no need to apologize, but she felt she should give some kind of verbal acknowledgement. She was distracted then by his hand moving down from her hip to rest on her thigh, just his palm and the tips of two fingers, waiting for instruction from him, and he waiting for instruction from her, eyes burning low and quiet when she looked into them. There were four, five painful seconds in which she did not understand him. Then a new heat rose in her face. She slid the silk panties away from her hips, with help from him for balance. She looked down at herself, combed through her coarser, darker hair with a finger, and used a second to spread her petals.

His forehead came closer to hers. In some way it was less distressing to have him look between her thighs than at her face, and Shoyo could look wherever she pleased while he was occupied. He ran a fingertip down the exposed pink. It slipped easily through the unbroken bubble of wet. A shudder shook her tensed body. He stroked down again, with slightly more pressure, and located the dip in the wet velvet. He raised his eyes, but they were too close now for him to see anything but the fringe of her hair. He reconcentrated, turning his palm up. They watched the length of his finger slip out of sight. He brought it out, and back in, memorizing the angle, as she tried her best not to hurt herself with too many held breaths.

It had seemed concerningly tight at first, but he found she was rapidly opening up for him, and the slickness only increasing, making the act feasible. Nevertheless, a panic set in as he acknowledged the next part must be his. She was awaiting him. He shifted under her, and she stopped holding him with her knees, letting her legs slide onto the bed on either side of him. He shifted forward to his knees, and his ankles throbbed as they were relieved of his weight. He did not intend for her to wait any longer on him and wasted no time in pushing his long johns off his waist. He had already leaned over her before her noise of turmoil registered with him and made him freeze.

She was red seemingly from head to toe, choking each time she tried to swallow, and her hands squeezed each other and her garment and the bedsheets. Her nether region was relatively unassuming, in her humble opinion, but his was shocking and obtrusive, an angry red head poking from ugly thick skin. Not that she thought him ugly, she tried to say, only managing a series of birdish noises and to further his belief that he had somehow given her a horrific injury. She had not considered what it would look like, and it was now the fault of her thoughtlessness that she felt this way, and that he retreated from her, miserably flushed and never to meet her eyes again.

Since she could not speak, she leaned forward hurriedly, willing him to look at her, and her quickness surprised him enough that he did. She tried to kiss him in apology, but he pulled sharply from it. Now it was her turn to be wounded, as he looked away. However, they had not come so far to ultimately fail, or worse, to do damage to their relationship. She did kiss him, latching onto his shoulders with every intention of not letting go, until she remembered that he was much stronger, now the ease of moving her became a potential horror if she had ignited his rage with her insistence, and her hands flew from him—

But her head did not follow as she had intended. He held her, one hand on her neck and the other, the slick one, in the center of her chest, fingers straying along the v of her garment. He parted their lips for a deep breath, then cupped carefully at her mouth again. He would not hurt her, and she was sorry and grateful and thirsty for him all at once. When he left her lips, she took his arm in both hands and urged him forward as she lay down. She wished that she could say anything at this point, but her throat was stuck. She could only look at him and drag him closer, and look slowly and deliberately down, and look back up and touch his hip to make him easy.

Since meeting her, more times than he would admit he had already wished he was the only one her fairest eyes would ever look at.

Putting one hand beside her on the bed, he moved into position. With the other hand he gripped his cock, and as she watched she felt a little less aversion for it. She felt still a little less when he rocked at the hips, then brought them into contact. She was not so slick anymore, and it was slightly more uncomfortable than it might have been, but she bore it quietly, and he did not allow it to prevent his going fully into her heat. She panted twice:

“Ah, ah.”

She had not known she could take in such girth with no pain. And when he edged back a few centimeters, and slid deep again, the last of the discomfort was gone. She tremored with pleasure.

“O—Oh—”

He was encouraged. He pushed with more certainty, and she let go of his arms and stretched for his shoulders, just able to reach them. Their difference in size meant that she was looking not into his face but at his collarbones, which she reasoned might be best for now, and anyway his collarbones were gracefully framed. Her fingers slid over one as he continued his even hip movement, rolling down into her. He was now heaving his breaths, and she thought she could hear some emotion in them as well as the function. He slowed for a moment, readjusting his hands and knees. When he started again she coughed out a groan, as his shorter retractions resulted in almost constant deep stimulation, and gave her thrill upon thrill of pleasure.

In spite of every other issue of compatibility they had so far exhibited, he seemed perfectly formed for her. She had nothing to want while he was filling her up, and she fluttered all over in amazement at being so close with him, such a cool man, such a handsome one, such a seemingly authoritative one. He was changed now, heated skin betraying him, features softened to a shy beauty, and no demanding word or look. And he would only change for her.

He had stopped his rutting hips. Shoyo blinked, and loosened her grip on his shoulders. When she said nothing, he began to shuffle back, but before he could fully remove himself she hugged him around the neck, squeezing tight and pulling him down into an uncomfortable position without meaning to. She hummed, chest vibrating against him. She pressed her cheek against his hair, squeezing even tighter for a moment, then let go. He rushed to crawl to his side of the bed. She bunched up the quilts to hide her body. Then quiet.

“I am going to dress,” she almost shouted, and ran to her wardrobe.

He pulled his long johns up to his waist and escaped into the powder room. When he reemerged, first sight told him that she had left, and his heart jumped and nearly lodged in his throat. But upon closer inspection, she must be the lump hidden under the bedcovers. He stepped lightly around the room to blow out the lamps, checking over his shoulder and seeing nothing but a little red hair. When he came into bed, he kept a careful distance between them.

She bumped his side with her elbow.

“Goodnight,” she said.

“Goodnight.”

 

He sent notice by a servant that he would hold his breakfast until she was ready. Shoyo came slowly, already blushing from knowing she would see him, and half wondering that on this of all days he should endeavor purposely to see her in the course of the morning. She hardly expected it of his character.

When she edged into the room, he stood so abruptly that she cowered back under the doorway. He seemed to try to look away, but his eyes wished to come back to her. Finally he strode toward the kitchen door.

“I will order your milk.”

She took the nearest chair and hurried to smooth the bodice of her dress and pat down as many flyaways as possible. She had sat longer than usual for her lady-in-waiting, wanting with her best self to encourage in him the thought of having her again. For she suspected that no matter how pleased he had been, that pervasive shyness might prevent him for many days from wanting to be anywhere near her when she was not fully clothed. At the moment she was thinking of her bare body under his hands, Tobio chose to return to the room. He set the milk before her, picked up his abandoned coffee cup, and sat down at the opposite end of the table, looking pointedly out the window.

She did not mind this so much, as she was free to observe him without being observed. That is, until she giggled, and his head turned sharply. She had looked likewise toward the window, and he saw her with her chin in her hand and a smile playing across her face, though he could not see her mouth. A giggle came again, and she tried to stop it with a press of her hand, but it tinkled away into the quiet. He looked incredulous, could she be laughing at him in such a moment? She did not see him, as she had now put her arms on the table and buried her head in them. A few more choked laughs wrestled with her. As she cushioned her head with her arms, she dozed off for a minute, and when she raised her head again, he was gone.

All day long Tobio was mostly absent. When they did happen to cross paths, his eyes went down and he colored, and for it she was more and more pleased with him. She would smile all the while that they were in the same room, and smile still when he left. She was delighted with his shyness, or perhaps with the fact that having given herself to him once, he did not now feel unconditionally entitled to her.

In the early evening, as she came around a corner and put her hand on the doorframe, he appeared in the same space she was trying to enter. They stopped just before colliding. She smiled but did not look up to meet his eyes. He stepped aside to allow her her way. As she passed, an idea came into her head, and she turned around just after she had gone through the door, just as he was moving to exit. She reached and molded her hand lightly against the undercurve of his buttock.

He leapt forward like he had been stung. He spun around to look at her with shocked eyes, but Shoyo was already running along the hallway in search of a hiding place. He would chase her down and scold her, she knew it, and knew she deserved it. She ducked into a maid’s closet, blushing furiously and squeezing fistfuls of hair.

But she did not see him again until dinnertime. He sat opposite her. Now their avoidance was past endearment and bordering on real awkwardness, which a well-bred young lady would not tolerate, and so she endeavored to converse.

“Your cook is very good.”

“She has always satisfied me,” he said.

Bolstered by his immediate reply, she tried again.

“It would have been harder still to come away from home if I had not the benefit of equally good meals.”

“Yes.”

“I sent my first letters home, yesterday. I expect to be answered soon.”

“Is that so.”

“Have you written home? Your new wife must be bragged about, you know, by letter since you have not taken me along the tour of all your acquaintances and relatives.”

“I have not written. The only two I wished to approve of you have already done so.”

“Wholly sufficient for you, I am sure, but you are hardly courting my vanity, and you ought to.”

“Why ought I to?” he said, finally looking at her. “Vanity is not a virtue. I should be helping you to suppress it.”

“You should be doing no such thing, to my faults or otherwise.”

“Am I to understand that you will never allow me to check you?”

“No, I will not,” she smiled.

“That is rather unwise of you.”

“But it is rather fair of me also, as I know you have no intention whatsoever of allowing me to do the same to you.”

He looked serious and put out, and she laughed.

“You are open-minded, I know,” he said. “You would always allow your sisters and your parents to guide you as they saw fit.”

“I know that my sisters and my parents wish my good. I am not nearly so familiar with your motives.”

She was smirking, but he replied seriously.

“I see.”

He would not talk anymore, about his family or hers or even the weather. After the meal she was resigned to go upstairs, knowing that she ought not to follow him around, but that he would have to come to bed eventually, and she could try again to make him amused. She busied herself for a long while in the powder room, and when she came out was more than surprised to find him sitting on the end of the bed, with his coat off.

“Why, I did not hear you come in,” she said.

“I apologize, if I was unwelcome.”

“Oh no, but if you have been waiting for me you ought to have made your presence known. Were you waiting for me?”

“I would call you the waiter, as you came here first.”

“Very well, but did you come to end my waiting?”

He glanced. “Only if we were waiting for the same thing.”

She smiled.

“I will undress.”

She hopped to her wardrobe. He walked behind her to his, and they stripped equally quickly into their undergarments. They proceeded in much the same way as they had the night before, with more smoothness and a slightly quicker pace. She said his name again, once, and he managed to make the first sound of hers.

There was one change from last night to this, that she heartily deemed an improvement; they remained in bed for a little afterwards, back to each other but still unclothed. She was smiling and feeling his breathing raise and lower the mattress, when an thought came into her head. She rolled and draped herself over his side.

“I have something amusing to tell you.”

He was weary with her so close. His shoulder was hunched to his cheek, and he grumbled in answer.

“What is it?”

“When I chose to have my hair cut,” she said, “My mother shed tears, and said that I would never find a man willing to have me. But only look how I have made out.”

He glanced at her. She was grinning fit to burst.

“Is that not amusing, my husband?”

He half smirked. “I suppose so.”

She laughed into his neck, and kissed him there. Then she sat up, deliberating.

“I would like to take a bath.”

She hopped out of bed and slipped into her lining dress. She took a clean nightgown with her.

When she came back, he was asleep. She did not mind, however, because she was free to attach herself to him right away. With minor difficulty she blew out the lights, then came into the sheets and pressed against his back, putting a hand there against the toasty skin, and laying her other arm across his waist.

 

The morning after, when he woke her in order to extract himself, he did not leave the bed entirely; sitting at the edge, he leaned close until she felt his breath at her cheek. She crinkled her eyes tighter, hoping that if she seemed unconscious enough he might give her a kiss, when there was least risk of embarrassment. There was no kiss, but he spoke from just above her.

“I assure you that soon I will discover how to fully please you.”

She opened her eyes in surprise. The blue of his was trained down on her, intent, determined to make her believe his promise.

“Do not let it worry you too much,” she said.

She snuggled back into the pillow and closed her eyes before she spoke again.

“I am feeling patient.”

He was flustered right out of the bed, sputtering and fuming, unable to answer with his part. She cackled under the sheets. There was something lacking, maybe, between them, but she was rather having fun this way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don’t mention the PETALS i hate it but this was so hard to write and at some point i had to roll with whatever came out, please spare me your grief if you can


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The newlyweds have something of a spat during their honeymoon phase. Is this a terrible omen?

They attended the wedding of Shoyo’s dear neighbor and his best friend, and Kageyama thought her rather happier on this occasion than she had been at their own, especially as she hardly cried at all. He was forced to reconsider his opinion that she had no reserves and every love for being the center of attention.

She wore the gown that had been specially made for her by her sister-in-law, and glowed more from compliments of it than she approved of, even at such an occasion where there ought to be very much glowing all around. She was positively thrilled to see her family and their house again, but even with all her vocalizing and all her sunrise smiles, Tobio was firm in adhering to their original plan of staying with the family two nights only. He was not sure enough of his place with her, yet, to give up his monopoly.

 

Two days after their return home, Kageyama made his second work trip, and was gone a week this time. Consequently her enthusiasm upon his return was double to what it had been on the first reunion. She kissed him immediately, full and rather wet, every hum sinking her deeper against his chest. When she did stop, it was not before his hair had been roughed up in the back by her grip, and his dickey pulled a little loose at the neck. She huffed a breath and smiled at him.

“This is quite the greeting.”

“Do not be content, yet,” she said, “For I have good news to give also. Come and rest in here.”

She led him to the sitting room.

“I warn you that you are setting rather higher expectations than you might always be prepared to meet,” Kageyama said.

“Nonsense.”

She sat beside him on a sofa, though he was sunk deep into the backrest, and she kept on the very edge of the cushion.

“An acquaintance of my family’s, who we had heard of, but not heard from in perhaps two years, has written to me and laid out the details of a predicament she finds her household to be in. She is in need of a familiar, trusted lady’s help, and it happens that I am the nearest such lady to her. And as such,” she announced, “I am going to work for her.”

He waited several moments before speaking, and spoke slowly when he did.

“You are telling me…that you are going to work.”

“Yes.”

There was no doubt that she challenged him with her eyes.

“No,” he said, “You are not.”

“I am not? You are telling me that I am not?”

“Yes, and it was a wholly foolish idea to begin with.”

“Why, what do you mean?” she cried. “You should not call any idea of mine that.”

“You are a gentleman’s wife, there is no circumstance which would warrant your working outside the home.”

When he made to leave the room, she followed him, a serious flush spreading on her face, and her voice taking up an edge.

“You are not even going to hear what I propose? And you would call yourself a gentleman?”

“No, I am not.”

“Without listening to me you cannot understand me,” she said. “There are more servants here than I have been used to. When I stayed at home there were things to be done, and here there is absolutely nothing.”

“I will instruct them to leave things alone for you to do.”

She glared fiercely.

“I will force you to hear me, sir. This woman of my acquaintance, and a particular old friend of my brother’s, no less, has just given birth to triplets. Her husband has been most unfortunately called away to urgent family business, and her nurse is only a young woman, and is also expected to do some of the housework. Her mistress does not have the energy or time to spare for screening and hiring more help, and it is in the best interest of all involved that she quickly find some willing lady of her acquaintance to assist. She will pay me an honest nurse’s wage for three days per week of helping. There, now, is that not an eligible situation for your wife?”

They were at the foot of the stairs. He stopped sharply to look at her.

“I care neither how willing you are, nor how honest she is. Would this woman ever do such a thing herself, were your positions reversed? Do you know of any woman in your station who would do such a thing? It is unheard of, it is unnecessary, and it is against my wishes. We will keep to our own affairs, and they to theirs, and you will not allow yourself to be so demoted by your ‘acquaintances.’”

Her lips pursed and turned white as she glared. Then she marched up to the fourth step, and from above him, said:

“I was so eager for you to come, and to share the bed with you again. But now you have upset me. I hope I am asleep by the time you come up.”

She lifted her dress and bolted up the staircase.

 

He was surprised, and a little defeated, by her presence at the breakfast table. Not that he would allow this to show; he returned her ‘good morning’ coolly, and drank his coffee as if confident that he had a reasonable, obedient wife. But if her silence lulled him into the tiniest of beliefs that that was indeed the kind of wife he had, the first thing she said defeated that belief for good.

“I have concluded,” said she, “That your arguments against my helping my family’s friend are completely irrational. You believe that I will expose you to ridicule or degrade respect for you by working where others can observe me, but the kind of work I intend to do will not be seen by anyone but those in the very household where the work takes place. I will not be working outside _a_ home, only outside of ours. I will not work in a public sphere. I am connected to the family in question, so how can it be viewed as anything but a duty to a friend? And finally, it will hardly be a month’s worth of work, and the most beneficial kind of work for someone who intends to be a mother herself one day. There now, is this not a rational scheme?”

She had not flinched from his eyes, though they burned at her the whole time. He answered dryly.

“Would your mother approve of such a scheme?”

“Yes she would, she always said I might have been more content in a working class family, as I have an industrious body. Not that she would give me up to any such family, no matter how delightful they were.”

“Would your father approve?”

She could not help but falter a little at that. She said, however:

“With convincing. Certainly.”

“Because he is a man he knows the same shame as I do,” said Kageyama. “And we are right to feel it, there is no need and no business for our wives to go out selling themselves to death.”

“Good heavens, do not dramatize to such an extreme. You are very like my father, he would say the same. But I do not see why it bothers you, that your wife does not need to work, only that she wants to. There can be no harm to your reputation when that is the fact of the matter.”

“People will not be informed of that fact, and even if you took care to inform each and every person within a hundred miles, they would not believe you in earnest. It would reflect poorly on you, such conduct demonstrating an unsatisfying stubbornness and irrationality, and on me, as apparent disregard for how you behave.”

“You will deny me, your life’s partner, what I want,” she said, “Because it may make others think a little less of you?”

He made no answer to this. She stood up from the table.

“Well, I am going for a walk now, which may even become a run if I so choose. You cannot forbid me from that, and if you attempt to catch me I will not let you.”

“You think you are capable of running away from me?”

“I certainly am, and I will prove it at your insistence.”

He stayed resolutely at his seat in the dining room as she went upstairs, and as he heard her come back down and leave the house.

 

When she returned, flushed and shining with perspiration, he was seated at the little table in the enclave, pretending to work with some papers, but really waiting in this prime position to give her a chilling scowl. She met it with a raised brow and a triumphant smirk. She went upstairs again, and when she came down he was in the big sitting room leaning over a book, pen in hand. He looked up, observing a fresh glow in her face, and with her entrance a warm, dewy-smelling air hovered in the room. She had had a bath.

“Come here,” he said to her.

Shoyo pranced over, not stopping in front of him but taking a seat right on his knee. She cocked her head and folded her hands expectantly in her lap.

He slid his hand into her hair and felt the clean softness. He kissed her temple. He breathed in her rose-watered scent, kissed her head again, and placed his hands over hers in her lap.

“We have a few hours before dinner,” he said. “You look quite invigorated from your exercise. Would you like to go upstairs for a while?”

She smiled.

“No. I am now perfectly clean and will not sacrifice it for your sake.”

She got up to leave, but he caught her hand. His frown was deep, and his voice already heated.

“That is a lie, you are only refusing because I will not give you what you want.”

She put her head back and laughed. Then she eased her hand out of his grasp and went away to the other side of the room, and he would have sworn, before a judge, that she swayed her hips more than usual in her walk.

At dinner she talked of unrelated things, until, relaying to him the particulars of her brother’s latest letter, she came to the tale of how Daichi had left his trade bonds at home and taken out a comrade’s instead, because the man was at home with his ill wife and had been forced to miss several selling days. To this she added:

“How good a feeling it must be to do service to the ones you know, and who truly need it.”

He made no answer but to drink his milk.

When they were in bed, in nightgown and long johns, he asked her again if she would be intimate.

“You may have what you can see, but nothing more.”

He moved close to her side, content with such a response, as he was confident that some choice touches and kisses would suffice to weaken her restraint. Shoyo had been so far the greater exhibitor of eagerness on each of their nights spent in this manner, so he had reason to believe her resolve against him was thin. Therefore he was all the more frustrated when no effect appeared on her skin or the stillness of her body. Rather irritated now, he neglected her and rolled away onto his side to sleep. Then she sat up and leaned over him, put her hand on his neck, and leaned to kiss the side of his face.

“Goodnight,” she said.

 

She did not allude to it the next day. But the day following, Kageyama went into the village, and when he returned she was at the front door and informing him that she had received another letter from the needy acquaintance, who wanted to know as soon as possible whether or not Shoyo could help.

“Her house has fallen into disarray, Kageyama, disarray she says!”

She brandished the letter at him.

“Read it and pity the poor woman, or I married a man entirely without a heart.”

He took the letter and scanned over it.

“She has no husband either, he is away, just as mine is sometimes away, and we will be the best kind of company for each other.”

He handed it back, utterly unaffected. Her eyes slitted.

“Why, you—”

“She might already have hired someone, if she did not dawdle about waiting on a distance acquaintance she has not bothered to maintain contact with until now, when she is in need.”

“She cannot hire any old body to care for her infant children! I explained this to you at the very first, how should you feel if some about-town woman from who knew what set of parents had the job of rocking your children asleep? Would you not much prefer one of my sisters or yours?”

“Your sisters are your own blood to the closest degree,” he said, “And I would prefer them above all others because we know their character and their devotion to you. This woman can know little of your capabilities, being closest with your brother which makes her considerably older than yourself, and you admitted to me that the acquaintance was nearly nonexistent before this letter turned up. Why should she have you of all people to look after her children?”

She gasped, scowling and trembling for a moment in indignation.

“That is a fine thing to say to assure me of your faith in me. How can you have any intention at all of having children by me if this is your sentiment?”

“You know perfectly well, ma’am, that I meant no slight of you. Do not dramatize.”

She rolled her eyes, and followed him up the stairs.

“Well, then, what if I do not receive pay for my work?” she said. “Though I would be proud to have earned something, I do not really need the pay, as you and every person very well knows. What if, then, I help simply as a friend?”

“Friends do not clean each other’s houses,” he said, “As if you were unequal to her.”

“You are obviously not listening closely to me, because I will not be cleaning her house, I will be watching one or two of her children while she watches the other and her maidservant cleans the house. And furthermore, you are not worthy of your friends or family if you are not willing to sacrifice pride for them. That is what I know to be right.”

He opened the door to their room and she followed him in, clinging for a moment to his waistcoat.

“Tobio, to help her will make me feel good, and busy and useful, but I will not receive anything else from it, if that is your wish, and it will not make you look incapable in any way. Nothing could do as much, everyone who knows you knows that, at the very least, how capable you are.”

He gave no response, and she dropped his coat and the subject.

 

Until the next day, when she was on him again, only to say that he would be leaving again tomorrow, and that he must answer today.

“I gave an answer once already, if you remember,” he said.

“It is only for the good of a friend, and for some purposeful activity, for a very short time. From the moment I become a mother there shall be no more jobs done. I will be fully involved with your children, and they will force me to be the good little wife you wish for in your heart of hearts.”

“I hope neither they nor I nor anyone will force you to be anything.”

She blinked at him, surprised for a moment in spite of herself. He sighed.

“If it will only be a few short hours per week, nothing to strain you,” he said, “And if it is done as a favor to her, and if you can promise to resist the urge to talk about it much, I can foresee no harm to any of the involved parties.”

She clapped her hands to her cheeks.

“Oh, you will agree!”

“But if,” he continued, looking right at her now, “It causes us to be the subject of gossip, if your mother or father should hear of it and voice any objection, or if you are treated with anything less than the respect you are due, I will see to it that the fences of this property become your permanent fences.”

“You would do no such thing,” she cried with a grin, “For you are far too fond of making me happy.”

She threw her arms around his neck.

“I wish tomorrow would never come, that you would never leave, my dearest husband.”

He rolled his eyes, even as he smiled.

 

Tobio did leave, and come back again from working. She and a warm fire were waiting in the parlor. She rushed out into the hall before he could come to her.

“My dear!”

She embraced him.

“You came early once again and did not send me word.”

“I have a wife. It is proper now to return home as soon as possible.”

She smiled. “It makes me happy to be called your wife by others, but it makes me happiest to hear you call me as much. I suppose that is as it should be.”

They shared a kiss. She touched his neck and gazed up at him.

“You look well. I worry that while you are working you do not eat or sleep properly.”

“I do, always,” he said.

“Good.”

She slid her hands off his shoulders, and down his arms, and took his hands in hers.

“Are you terribly tired at this moment?”

Her eyes danced, and a tiny smile was creeping at the corner of her mouth.

“I am not terribly tired,” he said.

She beamed, and pulled him off by the hand, leading him up the stairs.

“Are you terribly tired?” he repeated. She glanced back.

“No—”

“Your work agrees with you, then.”

She smiled rosily, and nodded. “Yes, it does.”

She squeezed his hand tighter. As they entered the hall her step quickened, until she broke into a run, dragging him along with a laugh that echoed like jingle bells. She pulled him inside their room and closed the door, then turned and put her arms around his neck, smiling, and hopped onto her tiptoes to kiss him.

After their pleasure they stayed bare and cocooned in the heat they had created under the sheets. He was on his back, and she on her stomach, on their respective sides of the bed, but she felt close enough, as he was here to occupy his space, and willing to talk to her.

“I wish you would wear your blue coat home, from one of your trips,” she was saying.

“I suppose I am to inquire why you would wish for such?”

“Yes, you ought to, and do not be sardonic.”

“Why am I to wear my blue coat?”

“Because I should see you and know of the state you present yourself in while away from me. There ought not to be a privilege others have that I your wife am denied. I must see you in it once to know, and to be jealous with cause.”

“The blue coat is meant to make us appear clean and unassuming,” he said. “It can hardly be worth looking at, if it is performing its function.”

“It will be very well worth looking at if it can do the magic of making you appear unassuming.”

He scowled, and she smiled cheekily.

“If you found cause, you would prevent me from wearing my blue coat?”

“Oh yes.”

“That is rather unfair, for I saw you in the green gown when you tried it on at home, and still allowed you to wear it to the wedding.”

“Why, no one looked at me in the gown, they only looked at the gown itself. I was told how lovely the lace was, how elegant the color, and your sister’s eye was highly praised, only things of that nature.”

“The reason you did not hear things of a different nature was because I accompanied you at all times. I made sure that I did, made sure that it was so.”

“Sir, do not project immodesty onto my friends.” She turned her head away from him. “When you say such things in a purposeful way, I do not like it.”

“How do you mean purposeful?”

She couldn’t help turning back.

“You know how I mean!”

“You ought not to always assume this of me,” he said to the ceiling.

“Then,” she smiled, “You have just admitted that you particularly like me in my green gown. Perhaps your sister knew what she was about?”

“She knew, as a designer does, exactly that which would give your figure all its advantages at once. I happen to approve of your figure, and know its advantages equally well.”

“I rather hope you know its advantages a little better, or your attention in the evenings has not been very minute.”

He huffed as she laughed.

“And you approve of something in me?” she said. “That is news. Good news.”

He did not answer. She watched his chest rise and fall once, then turned fully on her side and put her hand on his shoulder. She studied him. Then she latched onto his upper arm and pulled in closer. He turned his head and they locked eyes. She smiled softly, and they both looked away. They looked again at the same time, and she laughed, and buried her face into him.

“How I have stood to be married to you even this long I do not know.”

As if to further prove it to her, her nose had landed in his armpit.

“Tobio, you are pungent.”

He sat up immediately and she shrunk away; when she saw his blush she knew that he had taken it personally, and she laughed at him. He left the bed and stalked toward the powder room. Halfway there he realized that he was still completely without clothing, and he ran the rest of the way, as she laughed to an aching stomach.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff, there will never be enough fluff in this world to satisfy me. Also a disclaimer for those wanting Tsukiyama, they're very minimal and come in only near the end, sorry if the tag is misleading

They received their first ball invitation since being married, and Kageyama began to wonder, to marvel, at the patience of Hinata Keishin, in having not one, but three such young women in his house at once, talking about a ball. His expectations were no match for hers, but he was not without them entirely; he had enjoyed dancing with her from the very first, and could not be averse to it.

But then Shoyo woke with a deeply felt headache, a day before the event. They whiled away the day with anxiety, to see if the next would be better, but the sun rose on a young woman with a full-blown cold settled into her, altering her voice and making her see two of the kind servant who tended her. He was informed of her state, then went up to confirm it himself, and to hear her confess:

“I am afraid I do not feel at all up to it. Any dancing would make my head ache so sharply, and even to watch others move about so much would make me dizzy.”

He knew that she would not pass up a ball unless she were quite unwell. So he said:

“It is just as well, we will not go.”

‘We’ she would not hear of.

“Of course you must go, we were invited and as it is very possible for you to attend you must, our attention is owed in return for theirs in including us. You must go to hear news, to see those I have not in such a long time, and I have letters for you to deliver to my parents and sisters. Kageyama you must go.”

She had to repeat these same factors several times, and he thought that if she had not had that stuffiness in her voice which proved her head pain, he probably would not have ended up complying. But he did comply, and set off alone at noon for a set of company he could have little pleasure in once he leveled at them the disappointment of not seeing her, and while he knew her to be doing nothing but sleeping fitfully and mourning the party she missed.

To give the same grim account of her over and over to shocked listeners was tiring, but the evening was perhaps not so dreadful as he had expected. All the inquiries showed how much her absence was felt, and her sisters were there, and liked and doted upon as ever, known by their connection to himself through Shoyo. He did feel his good fortune in having a wife the whole village thought he ought to be proud of having.

 

Upon his late return, he was shown to a spare bedroom down the hall from their own. She greeted him from the bed with a smile and a little squirm of her shoulders as she tried then decided against lifting her head.

“Hello dear.”

He came in.

“I have not much voice, all the talking will have to be yours.”

He sat next to her, studied her eyes a moment, then put a hand to her forehead.

“Goodness. You are worse than when I left you,” he said.

“It has moved from my head to my throat, so I do honestly feel better.”

She shuffled a little under the quilt, then blinked heavily at him.

“Tell me how it was,” she whispered.

He sat and petted her hair away from her forehead as he relayed all the well-wishes and inquiries after her.

“It is odd to have you so quiet and still,” he said when he had done.

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Appreciated, that is.”

He made no reply but to kiss her forehead.

“Tobio, this is not to be born, you must not come into contact with me. This is the purpose of my keeping out of our bed.”

He shushed her. “I have not been with you nearly long enough, yet, that I possess the power of not having you when you are to be had.”

“You are cruel, to embarrass me even now.”

He came to kiss her lips, but she pulled up the quilt and pushed it at his face.

“Tobio, be reasonable!”

“Shoyo—” He wrestled her arms down. “The company of an entire ball has bid me take care and be good to you, and I am not so stubborn as to go against the will of so many.”

“You are absolutely so stubborn as to go against them all if you thought you ought to. Your happening to agree with them now is to my detriment, however, for I have vowed to be equally as good to you, and to infect you with illness will put me in a very bad place with my oath.”

He rubbed his thumbs over her wrists, thoughtful.

“Very well. I ask only this, are you well enough to sit up for a moment?”

“Yes, of course, if it is necessary to appease you.”

She eased herself up, and he promptly embraced her, pressing his cheek hard into her hair. He did not know where the need to have her near had suddenly come from, but the prospect of parting from her for the night made him unbearably restless and resentful. He wished she was not always so curious, and so attuned to any change in his behavior, for he could feel her now with questions inside her when he had no prepared answer.

He decided to skip through questions altogether, and pulled back her blankets and picked her up.

“What on earth are you doing? You are so abominably stubborn—” Her voice cracked. “Put me down this instant.”

She pushed at his chest, but he ignored it all and carried her into their room.

“You are going to feel terrible in the morning and I do not want to hear a word of its being my fault, for you are bringing it on yourself. Tobio, you will be sick!”

He set her on the bed, and she sighed.

“Well, it is very fine for me if you cannot go to work and must stay here, so therefore I will not be concerned anymore with your health.”

She did not say anything else as he was undressing, and when he came to the bed he found her almost asleep. He lay beside her and rested his hand on her head.

“There,” he said, “I have only to endure your first violent rebellion, and then you will be good.”

“That is not the lesson we are to take from this evening,” said she.

“You are talking too much. If you would not fight against me you would be much more along your way to healing.”

She pouted her cheeks. He poked at one, earning a scowl from her, but she did not fight him as he kissed her head, and her cheek, her neck, and behind her ear. He ran his lips into her hair. She sighed again, throat crackling.

“I will get a glass of water,” he said, and slid out of the bed.

“There is one in the other room,” she croaked, “And some lozenges. If you had listened to reason you would not have to go and get it now.”

“I will be glad to go and get it, so long as you are here when I come back.”

“Why have you chosen now, when I am ill, to be at your most romantic?”

“I do not know…what you mean.”

She sighed again, curled up on her side and closed her eyes. When he came back with the supplies, she was asleep.

 

Some mornings (he tried not to indulge too often) he did not leave the bed upon his first wakening. She made it easy as not even the allure of more sleep could do; he had to look only a little long at her to decide to settle back in. He might doze off again, but he always woke before she did, and was glad of it, as he could tell by watching how she woke up that she was well-rested. She would always open one eye, and smile when she saw him looking at her. Then they would get up together, and it was as good a feeling as any such routine thing could give.

Once she stood and stretched out, arms as far above her as they could reach, and when she lowered them she caught him smirking. Already suspecting its cause, she spoke forcefully.

“And just what is so amusing to you this morning?”

“Your total height, even when you endeavor to stretch it to its fullest, is so very little,” he mused.

She rolled her eyes. “I had never supposed it was too much to hope, for a husband who would not think it right to tease me concerning my size.”

“I would not have teased if you had not first accused me.”

“I would not have accused if your expression had not provoked me!”

“You are always ready to quarrel about your size,” he said. “That is the only reason we are having this disagreement.”

“Well, our disagreement is now at an end, because I will not deny that is true, I am ready to quarrel about my size, and now you know not to mention it above once a year.”

“I do not see what makes it such an issue,” Kageyama said.

She sighed.

“Both my sisters have such height. My younger’s is quite excellent and my elder’s is just suited, just nice for her figure, whereas mine is so very lacking and little as to be absurd.”

“It has not prevented you from getting a husband, and therefore must not be so terribly absurd.”

“But your wife will be spoken of always as wanting severely in height.”

“You are mistaken, rather you have been praised to me for this very thing, how delightfully petite you are.”

She was too worked up to allow the word its charm.

“Of course they say as much to your person,” she said, “And many other pleasing and pretty things about me, I imagine, and above half of which they do not really believe and would not bother their breath with if not for you being there.”

“Certainly, they none of them really mean that your cheek is pretty, that your address can melt metal hearts—”

“Oh, hush! Those are your very own words made up on the spot, and neither do you believe an inch or an ounce of them.”

“And that should matter least of all,” he said, “For I have already married you, in spite of every lacking belief.”

“Goodness, you are cruel. I am stunted and you do not care, is all this has amounted to, and you laugh at me for caring about others who care where you do not.”

“I care very much that they not hurt your feelings. If my presence may prevent this, I will glory in being among them and hearing every sweetly false thing about you.”

“Oh.” She was smiling at him. “That is good of you to say, and do, if you mean to. I shall like you for it.”

She smiled again, half absently as she grew thoughtful. He had the urge to laugh, but not the desire to disrupt the moment with it.

 

Once, before he would go away, she said from the staircase:

“Tobio? I will miss you.”

His chest clenched.

“It is hard,” she said, “To get into bed when I know I will wake up by myself, and that you will not be at breakfast either. Not that I would want to keep you from going, but just know that I will miss you.”

He looked seriously at her, and she bit her cheek and blushed.

“Perhaps you could accompany me to town,” he said.

Her mouth opened in surprise. But she recovered enough to shake her head.

“It seems improper, somehow,” she said. “You go to be industrious, and must always be going, but I cannot always be going too. I would not feel right about it.”

He did his best to sound neither relieved nor wounded. “I see.”

She smiled.

“You will have a late start, if I keep on in this way.” She put her hands behind her back. “Goodbye.”

He stepped back to her. “May I?”

Her hands were already on his arms, she had only been waiting for some indication from him, and their lips met. Suddenly her stomach was swooping as he lifted her at the hips and set her on the bannister of the stairs, their mouths never parting, his fingers curling firmly into her neck. His jaw worked until it had reduced her to slackness. He gently broke their seal, and she would have chased after his lips if only she could move at all.

“Keep busy until I am back,” he said.

She nodded, still dazed. He lifted her down, pecked her cheek, and was out the door.

 

He was moving down a sidewalk, preoccupied not with case details but a singular idea that had come to him last night while in bed. He had been pondering on it in every spare moment since then, but was coming no closer to a decision, when he happened to cross paths with a person well equipped to aid him.

“Miss Tadashi, an unexpected pleasure.”

“Hello, sir.” She curtseyed. “I happen to be staying in town, with my sister and Miss Shimizu, and her aunt.”

“Is Miss Koushi well?”

“Very well, thank you. And my other sister, how did you leave her?”

He only nodded, distracted by this opportunity.

“Your sister—is—”

“Is she ill?!”

“No. She is long recovered,” he said.

“Is she dispirited, is she distressing you?”

“No, I assure you.”

“I do apologize,” Tadashi said then, going a little pink. “I am irrational when it comes to my dear siblings. What is it you were going to say?”

“I was going to ask whether your sister is very fond of cats. I suspect,” he said, “That dogs are the favorite, but if the creature is going to be in the house, I would rather it be a cat.”

Tadashi’s smile was slow, but bloomed in full.

“I do believe that she would love a cat, with all her heart.”

He nodded, barely checking his self-congratulatory smile for a good scheme.

“Is this an idea of your own invention? Or has my sister been dropping hints? I hope it is not that she betrays signs of loneliness.”

“We…are making adjustments as the need arises. I thought it would be a small help, a different form of companionship.”

“Oh yes, very likely. Shoyo has wanted such companionship for so long,” said Tadashi. “The servants would scold her for feeding strays. And my poor mother had more than one shock in opening a drawer to find some hurt little thing nested away by her. For these reasons I do not think she would be much opposed to the idea.”

He nodded. “I will consider it among my most important business this trip.”

“Forgive me,” she said then, “I do not mean to keep you long, but might I inquire particularly after my sister? She is all good reports in her letters, but we are admittedly intent on hearing the other side of things. And you need not lie to me, for I have faith enough in you, and my love for her is not blind, I hope. You may tell me honestly whether you think things are proceeding as well as one could hope.”

“If a short answer will satisfy for now—”

She nodded.

“My sister said that I was luckier in my union than she expected me to be. I agree, and add that I was probably also luckier than I ought to be. But I am learning to act in a deserving manner, I can assure you of that.”

She could not say anything through her earnest smile.

“I am pleased to meet you here, Miss Tadashi, and would like to take further advantage of your being in town, if I am permitted. Would you join me for dinner this evening?”

“Oh, I would be happy to, only my company is already spoken for tonight. We are going to hear a piano recital. But you may name any other night during your stay and I will be more than willing to comply.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

He gave her his address card, and what followed was as pleasant an evening as he might ever have at the commons house. Her sister was easy to talk to, and he thought he said far too much, but with the youngest all his blushes were met with a polite smile and not teasing. In her he had a listener who would attribute none of his praise to newlywed fever, which he more than appreciated, both on account of his dignity and Shoyo’s integrity. He spoke as of business, to fill her sister’s report, and Miss Tadashi laughed on the inside, sure now that it was only her very sister who could induce so much, in such a man. She was proud to be connected to her.

 

This time Kageyama came home on the day promised. She saw from a window that he brought something large out of the carriage, and before he had moved a yard toward the house she was calling as she came through the door.

“My dear, Tobio.”

She ran across the path to him.

“What have you there, what is it?”

“It is a surprise,” he said, frowning at her and attempting to swing the crate away. “Go inside now, and I will bring it.”

She must have seen the fur through the slats, because her eyes went wide. Then with a noise the animal gave itself away. She gasped, and a scream jumped out of her.

“A cat?”

His face could not deny it. She let out a ringing laugh, clapped her hands, laughed again, and sprinted toward the house.

She was sitting on the bottom step when he came in. She hopped up, beaming and bouncing on her feet. Then she dropped to her knees and patted the floor in front of her, imploring him with smiles and little whimpers. He set the crate next to her.

“May I?”

He nodded.

She opened the crate, and a calico cat came walking out, looking around. She covered her mouth.

“It is a he,” Kageyama said.

“Oh—He is so beautiful…”

Her voice quavered like she was going to cry. Then she shouted:

“He is so fat! I love him!”

She hopped on her knees to be beside the cat as it moved. Tobio tried to protest that it was not fat, that its fur was dense and fluffy, but she had no ear for him as she let it sniff her palm, then stroked it rapidly. She squealed. He grew alarmed when she lifted its front feet right off the ground to look at the paws, then cupped its face in her hands, grinning nose to nose with it. But it was perfectly tolerant of her and made not so much as a flick of the tail. Tobio pretended that he was not offended.

“What will you—”

“Mochi! Mochi is what I always said I would name my cat if ever I had one, and he is the perfect Mochi.”

She laughed as the cat moved about. Then her eyes came up to Tobio, and when he blinked she was in front of him, taking his hands.

“Oh, what a good surprise, what a wonderful—You make me happy indeed, you are very good to me.”

She was hopping a circle, spinning him with her. Then she hugged him.

“My very good husband, I did not know how much you could surprise me. I will love him as long as I live, Tobio, thank you for bringing him.”

He moved stiffly to pat her head. She looked up, and there was such a smile on her face as made him forget embarrassment and feel all the sincerity of her praise with a toasty pleasure in his belly.

“Thank you.”

He hugged her in return, and she hummed her affection. It was such a long embrace that he lifted her so that he would not have to bend in the shoulders, and she was too comfortable to be indignant about her feet dangling above the floor. When he set her down she ran giggling to the cat. She got on all fours and crawled along with it.

“You are such a pretty boy.”

He could not roll his eyes, because she was so…

Lovely. She amused him, and four months had never passed so quickly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and since this is an AU we can pretend that all their layers and layers of clothes wouldn't be coated in cat hair


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A holiday get-together  
> And there's a fight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets feminist, although it’s a more archaic brand of feminism sort of in accordance with the setting

The winter holiday was to see Shoyo’s parents and sisters at her home for two nights and the better part of three days. Tobio had foreseen that her parents would offer her the trouble of hosting, and had written to his mother and sister to gather whether it would be possible for one or both to oblige them with the additional company. It could be arranged, he was told, for his sister to travel there.

Shoyo had only two weeks’ notice of his sister’s attendance, and he even wished he had waited another week to make it known, as her combination of exuberance and anxiety was irksome if they spent many hours together. He soon felt the necessity of checking the unrestraint that blossomed in all her ideas about hosting family.

“You ought,” he said, “To take into account that my sister is not accustomed, in the way that yours must be, to your particular way of showing attention and being affectionate.”

“Why, neither were you, at the start,” was her reply, “But do you dare to deny that you have enjoyed every moment of it?”

“This is an utterly unrelated matter to our relationship, which is on all levels different.”

She laughed, however, at his blush.

“Though by the connection itself you may be perfectly at liberty to show such sisterly affection,” Tobio said, “The differences in your upbringing constitute that you refrain, until you are sure of her comfort in it.”

She touched her chin as she considered. “You do know your sister better than I can. I should hate nothing more than to upset her.”

“Indeed, I myself would rather forget the few times I have seen her upset.”

Shoyo stared, then burst: “It was not necessary to frighten me, I was already to comply with your instructions! You unscrupulous man, always aiming to unsettle my nerves. We must not have her upset, not ever!”

“And we must not have you calling me unscrupulous.”

“But you are, in your tactics against me.”

“If that _is_ so, it is only because you are much the same in yours.”

“Why, what tactics do I use against you?”

“Ones such as what you revealed a moment ago, that you are deliberate in the means and measure of your affections so that you may have your sport of me later,” he said.

“How can you call my affections tactics?” she cried.

And they continued this way through dinner.

 

His sister arrived a day before the rest, in good time to have dinner with them, though it was to be a light one, as they fasted in some measure before the holiday feast.

“Keiji!”

The lady looked toward them, waiting at the doorstep, and smiled. Shoyo turned to her husband and hugged him around the middle as she did a few hops up and down. He was too conscious to return the expression of joy, and pushed at her hip to separate them as Keiji was coming up the path. Shoyo smoothed her face and pressed her lips hard as she prepared to be utterly polite.

“It is such a pleasure, Miss Keiji, to welcome you to our home.”

She smiled. “I have longed to see the two of you again.”

Shoyo smiled, lighting up as she looked at Tobio.

“I hope you will be comfortable here,” she said then.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Oh! And the gown, I thank you again and again, it is so beautiful that even your brother owns it as a favorite. I am afraid I could not do my thanks justice in my letter, but I will love it to pieces.”

She pressed her lips together again, and shyly dropped her eyes.

“It is always a greater pleasure to draw with a certain lady in mind,” said Keiji, “And I am sure my gratification in the matter is equal to yours.”

Shoyo opened her mouth, then closed it and nodded.

“Let us have her inside now,” Tobio said.

Shoyo hurried to make a way for her. They followed her in. Keiji turned to embrace her brother, who returned it with one arm, as Shoyo positively beamed.

“Knowing the attentions due your dear mother, we are honored to have you spend time here with us, and I hope you left your mother tolerably well?” said Shoyo.

“She was in fine spirits, on the whole very eager for my departure. I thank you.”

She smiled again. Then she gingerly offered her own arms for a hug. Keiji smiled and accepted it. This was apparently all the confirmation of comfort that Shoyo needed. She grinned and clapped her hands together.

“You are the very first person to dine with us, dear Keiji, and I could not be more pleased. Did you have a very fine trip? Has it been long since you visited this house, did you come as often as Tobio was used to do? I wonder how many changes there have been since you last saw it.”

“I was never so intimate with the place as my brother, and I have not been a visitor these three years. Great changes I might notice, but anything less will be lost on me.”

“Come, come and see what you remember!”

And she took her by the elbow and lead the much taller woman along. Kageyama had nothing to do but hover in awkwardness. Her inaccuracies and inattention to what _he_ felt the finer details of the house were more displeasing this time, in the presence of his own relation rather than hers.

 

He did not understand how his sister could attend to any of her food during dinner, with such a fountain of gaiety seated between them, at the end of the table. His sister’s smile did not falter, that he could detect, but this concluded little for him, and when they had all retired for the night he found he envied his sister’s separation from the other lady. Even after he had blown out all the lights and lay down, she remained sitting up.

“Do you think your sister is comfortable in the room? I think the other, with the north windows, might have been better.”

“There is no reason she should not be comfortable,” was his reply.

“But do you not think—”

“You already asked me all such questions beforehand.”

She sighed, and he hoped they would sleep now.

“Is she sure to find my family agreeable? They are not people of much fashion, after all, and though your sister has also lived in the country, her manner of education has likely been different.”

“If she finds yourself and your elder sister agreeable, there is no great chance of her finding the third sister and the people who raised them all to be less so.”

“Tadashi has been so very eager to meet her, and my parents of course will be overjoyed, and likely have a letter for her to take home to your mother. Oh, but my own mother, will Keiji think her too reserved? Will she think her cold rather than shy, and be led to believe she has made a poor impression on her? What if she tells your mother as much, that would be horrible!”

“It cannot be horrible or otherwise while it is only in your imagination.”

“Tobio, how can you not be anxious for their favor toward each other? Do you _wish_ animosity between our families? What if they are both of them so reserved as to produce injury on both sides?”

He sat up and looked at her.

“My sister, though not in the habit of being highly sociable or taking many opportunities to study characters, is too intelligent to make such a mistake between aloofness and reserve. Likewise, because your mother may not choose to do it often does not mean she is incapable of recommending herself, and I happen to think it quite the opposite, that she is uncommonly good at it.”

“Are you next to assert that you know my own mother better than I do?”

“I am next and lastly to assert that we are going to sleep.”

“That is perfectly fine,” she huffed. “I never did expect to make you see reason in these matters, anyhow.”

 

He woke to a press on his shoulder, and bright brown eyes that had obviously beaten him to waking.

“Tobio, you ought to be getting up now, that you may be the one to invite your sister to walk.”

He had few times been more mortified in his own bed.

“You will accompany her along a good path, of course, while I prepare for my family. Do exert yourself more to speaking than you did yesterday, for while she does know your character she may be inclined to think now that such moroseness comes from dissatisfaction in your new situation.”

Her family arrived late that morning. Her sisters flung themselves from the carriage and ran to meet her. Her grin flashed like the sun hitting the snow, and they hugged her between them.

“I cannot believe you are grown enough to be hosting your own holiday,” Koushi cried. “Let alone to be married.”

“You imply the opposite, but I assure you that being married is the much easier of the two.”

They laughed, and she pulled them toward the door as she skipped there. They greeted Tobio with eager bows and smiles. Koushi said hello to his sister and asked after their mother. Then Shoyo performed the first introduction.

“This is our younger sister, Tadashi.”

“A pleasure,” said Keiji.

“It is,” she replied. “I have heard nothing of you but that to admire.”

“Then you may have heard very little.”

She smiled. “A great deal, I can assure you, miss.”

By now her parents were out of the carriage, and she ran back down the path to them, throwing herself into hugs.

“Oh do come, come and meet her, Miss Kageyama. You can tell, even from here, how beautiful she is!”

“Indeed,” her mother said, though her daughter did not hear the quite remark as she raced ahead. She turned and waited, fidgeting with a grin, until her parents reached the spot they were all gathered.

“This is Tobio’s sister, Miss Kageyama Keiji. These, my mother and father.”

Her parents made their proper but sincere inquiries after her mother, and Keiji’s smiles and words could not be more of a triumph to Shoyo. Once they had all gone inside, she started up again.

“My dear mother, you have never stepped foot inside our home before,” she cried, “How am I to bear with such a thing? Do come and see, you will love everything about it.”

Kageyama prepared to speak to her, but her mother spoke first, and more gently than he could have done.

“At present, my dear,” she said, “The order of business ought to be becoming acquainted with Miss Keiji.”

“Oh yes, of course.” Shoyo colored a little. “I meant it to be so. Do pardon me, for getting caught up.”

His sister was smiling.

“ _I_ do not wonder at it. Your mother ought to see about your manner of living, and there will be time for forming the acquaintance. It is not necessary to forgo your tour on my account.”

Shoyo looked to Mrs. Hinata.

“If Miss Keiji will take no offense, we can do no wrong in a little tour. I will find great pleasure in it, I daresay.”

“And may Tadashi come?”

She was the nearest sister, and Shoyo had already latched to her side.

“Just as you please.”

So she and her sister began to take their mother through the house. Kageyama led the rest of the party into the sitting room, where they had been assembled before the Hinatas’ arrival. As they were taking their seats, his sister leaned toward him to quietly say:

“I dislike seeing her made unhappy so unnecessarily, as much as you do.”

 

After a light dinner, they sat down for tea in the warmest parlor, and a certain thread of conversation led to the admission that the Hinatas had brought with them a letter from their son. It was a tradition of some years now that Daichi would write to the family as a whole at the holiday time, and that they would go over it together as part of their celebration. Keiji owned that she was keenly interested to hear how their brother wrote, and know something of him this way, and since Tobio voiced no objection, Tadashi went upstairs to fetch the letter from her parents’ bag. Their father read it aloud, pausing for the necessary interruptions, as someone exclaimed or initiated a discussion.

Their brother was staying with a certain close friend, as one of numerous guests to their large party.

“If he is to be so many days with them,” said their mother, “He shall certainly spend time with the children. I am glad. I believe it cheers him like nothing else can do, when he is separated from his sisters.”

“Do not say that we are still so childlike in his heart,” said Koushi.

“He forgets how we have grown,” said Tadashi. “His memories of our girlhood are much more numerous.”

“He can hardly forget that Shoyo is married, however.”

“But she does not change much, for that.” Her mother smiled. “I am sure her letters have not changed.”

At the end of the evening Shoyo showed her sisters to the room specially made up from them, and did not return for some time. Tobio was disgruntled, then displeased, then rather offended that she had not communicated her intent to him. He stayed up, reading in a chair until she came tiptoeing in.

“Tobio? I did not think you would wait up, whatever did you do that for?”

He set his book aside and moved to the bed.

“I did not expect you to be so long.”

“Oh, but you ought always to expect it where my sisters are concerned. We can hardly be stopped, once we have begun, until the matter is fully gone through.”

“That has become perfectly obvious, these two hours.”

“Well, do not be cross. Are you not that way with your own sister? Or with your mother?”

He made no answer, his train of thought veering off, as she undressed.

“You would be pleased with yourself, no doubt, if I admitted to the number of hours we spent in such a manner on account of _you_.”

He roused as she came to the bed.

“What?”

She laughed. “I knew that you were not listening properly, and I shall never repeat it!”

She wiggled through the sheets to his side and laid her arm across his chest.

“I am very happy, to have as many as possible of our family here. I do not think we could have enjoyed ourselves more than we did today. Though I still hope in the idea that tomorrow will be better, with the dinner and such.”

“It was a fine day,” he said to the ceiling.

“What are you thinking of?” She frowned across the pillow.

“Your brother expresses himself uncommonly well. He is simple and direct, but not curt. Rather, he leaves no doubt of his earnestness. He ought to have been a politician.”

She laughed. “You might as well say he ought to have led a miserable life, for only the truly selfish can revel in such a sphere, and selfish my brother is not.”

“I hope you are aware that I will only let such a declaration pass without argument because we are sharing the house with guests.”

She laughed again. Then, with a contented hum, she pulled herself against his arm, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“I am so proud of us, dear. Of our house, and our family. Of us.”

And she kissed his jaw. Why, yes, he supposed, it was _their_ family, now.

“Oh! I had forgotten something I wanted to mention to Tadashi—”

She stood up on the bed and bounced to the end. As she was preparing to hop down, even as her feet had already left the mattress and she was suspended in the air, he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her back down.

“Tobio!” she gasped.

“I am afraid I cannot spare you to your sisters just now.”

He folded her up in the quilt, preventing her escape.

“That is preposterous.” She struggled.

“Very well, I _will_ not spare you. But forcing me to admit as much does not change your situation.”

She gave herself up, laughing under too much of his weight. He nuzzled her cheek for just a moment, then blew out his candle.

 

The following day could not have passed off any better, if Shoyo should have had every wish of hers granted. Her sisters and his got along splendidly; Keiji showed them design sketches she had brought along, including those she had done for Shoyo’s dress, and the three of them took turns at the piano when the whole party was gathered in the room. They each talked of their country homes, and of their favorite kinds of books, and Tadashi found in her such valuable knowledge as she had attained from her mother, a successfully married bisexual.

It was not vengefully cold, so an afternoon walk for the younger people was suggested, and attended to. The sisters had not walked in a trio for far too long, and were so giddy in it that their steps were quick enough to exert, and sometimes they flowed simultaneously into skipping. Having spent their formidable years, and more, together, the beauty of each had developed under the influence of the others, and as a whole they possessed a distinct kind of prettiness and charm, which their current excitement only magnified.

“You have more hills here, Shoyo,” said Koushi, “And you are lucky for it, it is such a thing to look over!”

“It is an eighth wonder of the world, to me!” she said. “It makes one feel so small, but in a comfortable way. I like such an ache in my chest.”

“I do know what you mean.”

“But do you miss the animals, Shoyo?” said her younger sister. “These are quiet hills.”

“Not now that I have Mochi. With an animal of one’s own it is easier to see how such wild things should have their respect and their uninterrupted ways.”

“I pity your Mochi,” said Koushi, “As the bearer of every last affection you had once to share between animals of every shape and species.”

“He happens to love it,” she declared, “So much so, that he and Tobio are forever at odds over having to share my affections between them.”

She grinned as her sisters laughed in earnest.

“Miss Keiji would laugh at us,” Tadashi said then, observing her smile.

“Certainly not.”

“But your smile, none of them, can be devoid of meaning,” said Koushi.

“She is much like her brother, in that,” said his wife.

“If you would know—” she smiled again— “I was thinking that among the three of you there must be a remarkable number of past suitors. You are, simply put, a force too powerful when combined, for most kinds of young men and women to withstand.”

“Oh no,” Shoyo said first, and her elder added:

“We must correct you, for it is quite the contrary. We have, really, none to speak of.”

“Then, you might have,” said Keiji, “If you spent less time in a village so small.”

Koushi looked with a smile at Tobio and said:

“It is very unlucky, then, for the young people who _have_ happened to come into contact with us.”

“True,” said the middle sister, “There is certainly a very unlucky man somewhere at sea, whose misery cannot be otherwise than great, with Koushi as its root.”

“Oh, Shoyo, I meant to tease your husband. Speak nothing of that, it is the holiday! And I am sure he makes as merry as everyone else.”

“Excepting myself,” said Tadashi, “For I will not believe anyone can be having so pleasant a time as I, this year.”

“True, nobody but myself only,” said the eldest.

“I believe I am in a way to claim happiness over you both,” Shoyo declared.

“I suspected that you would make such a claim,” said Koushi, “And I accept it, with no other explanation than that you are the only one of us who has their happiness automatically doubled by being one part of a whole union.”

“Indeed,” said Keiji, “Mr. and Mrs. Kageyama can be nothing but the pinnacle of happiness this year.”

Shoyo blushed at the label and could make no answer. Neither was she helped by Tobio, who was still thinking on the thoughtless mention of Koushi’s failed courtship of the past. As Keiji continued in quietness, refraining from further inquiry into the matter, he believed she felt equally the perverseness of it.

 

They sat down to the grandest dinner of the year, on which the likely years-standing reputation of Shoyo’s household management was dependent. She showed no more nerves, however, than if she were eating dinner at her childhood home amidst only her family.

Their mother had gotten a piece of news just the evening before the family set off, and now she announced that she had withheld it until all the girls could hear at once, including Keiji, who she understood was also acquainted with the subject. It concerned their friend Izumi.

“What other kind of news can it be, at our time of life,” Shoyo burst, “But the announcement of an impending marriage? Am I not correct, Mother?”

“Will it be a man or a woman?” said Koushi. “For my part, I still cannot make out what he is about.”

“Perhaps because he is about horses,” Tadashi snickered.

Their father approved of the equine match, but their mother confirmed it was not so. However, she could confirm almost nothing else, only that it was not doubted that Sir Izumi would be soon engaged.

“But _who_ does not doubt it?” said Koushi. “His mother? There would be something in that, but if it is only through observation by general acquaintances that such an assumption has developed, we can hardly depend more on its truth than its untruth.”

“I hope that it might be true,” said the youngest, “For there never was a more tenderhearted young man than Izumi. I am very fond of him, to this day.”

“I am inclined to believe,” said Koushi, “That he cannot be otherwise than engaged to a man. Did not his manner of playing with the opposite sex all those years ago give the impression that he harbored no intrinsic animosity toward us?”

“It must be so,” cried Shoyo, “For he did not tease us on a single occasion, and if he were really very inclined toward us, he would have done so.”

“I daresay there _is_ something in that,” said Keishin.

“But he was naturally very well-mannered,” said their mother. “For this reason we selected him, to aid in your training, my dears.”

“Upon my word, our mother says that we were difficult to manage!” said Koushi. “This is the first omission of such a kind I have ever heard.”

“Your mother would spare your feelings,” said Tobio, quietly. Keishin laughed.

“Keiji knows a little of him,” Shoyo said then, “And her information is much more to date than ours, I daresay. What does she think of his preference?”

“I know more about his preference for breeds or for surgical tools, than I can about his romantic ones.”

The girls and their mother laughed.

Just when the table had drifted back into relative peace, Keishin took the opportunity to say that which was sure to provoke the women of his family again.

“I understand, Miss Kageyama, that your parents were married at the Lakuaira. Shoyo and her sisters were all to be married there, once upon a time, when they would play their girlhood games.”

Shoyo colored, while her sisters scolded their father. Tobio was not to be diverted from his meal.

“I am certain I was destined for the very same,” said Keiji, “Not in my own fantasies, but those of my parents. But Shoyo and I have neither of us incurred any disadvantage from the altered destinies, I do not believe.”

“You say altered, and imply that your divergence from this destiny is as final as Shoyo’s?” said her mother.

“I was never able,” said Keiji, “To envision such a future for myself. And it has been several years since I determined that it should not come to pass. I am not a creature much formed for such a thing. It would strengthen the appearance of all my vices and shortcomings, rather than my virtues and strengths.”

“How rare,” said Keishin to himself, “That a parent should have such luck with a daughter.”

“But only look at your brother!” Shoyo said. “Those who knew him could hardly have said _he_ was formed for such a thing, one so sullen, and so unwilling to recommend himself in any way other than intellectually. Yet you are here in our house, and he has managed to make himself quite happy, if I am any judge.”

Her sisters both laughed, and her mother smiled and covered it with her hand.

“Do you now deny him any credit, Shoyo?” said Koushi. “When you used to defend his shyness and insensitivity from us?”

“He certainly recommended himself to you by something more than intellect, my sister,” said Tadashi, “Else none but Keiji could possibly be here this evening.”

Shoyo scowled as they laughed. Her father patted her shoulder, though he was smiling.

Shortly thereafter, a single servant came from the kitchen door to stand at the side of the room, empty-handed. Shoyo was too busy with gesticulations to notice, but Tobio had observed it, and now watched as Shoyo’s mother touched her father’s arm, and gestured to their daughter. Keishin got her attention, and her mother cooed some soft instruction to her. Shoyo turned, and started when she saw the servant. She got up, almost forgetting to curtsey, and went to meet with her. They went into the kitchen.

A minute later, his wife was at his side.

“Tobio,” she whispered, “Will you come to the kitchen, for a moment?”

He gave her a look, but stood up. When no one noted it but his sister, he cleared his throat a little to her before following Shoyo back into the other room.

It seemed that Shoyo had failed to give the proper directions concerning the cornbread dishes, and they had not come out with the rest of the set. They would have to be put out with the desserts, he decided, for that was better than forgetting them altogether. Shoyo smiled, apologized to their staff, and clapped her hands.

“It will be quite alright, after all.” She turned to Tobio. “Thank you.”

She pulled him down by the neck and quickly kissed him. Then she swung the kitchen door open, and he was left to smooth his countenance and follow her out in his new state of degradation, as a man, due to the deficiencies of his wife, forced to involve himself in the dinner particulars.

 

The next day, the last official holiday, the Hinatas and Kageyamas traveled to Karasuno, for the village’s social and card-playing night. They stayed comfortably at the Hinatas’ house until evening, then joined the whole county at the inn.

Tobio had not foreseen much pleasure in the evening, what with the tiredness of his feelings urging him to separate himself from his wife for a time, while the injured pride he nursed obligated him to continue by her side, so that he should be aware of each folly in exactly the manner it occurred. That even his own sister had yet to betray any criticism or wonderment at her, made him seriously unhappy. He wondered at, tired of, the patience of their whole family. His wife did not oblige him at any time by allowing him the introduction of his sister, and this only added to his discontent.

Shoyo, Tobio and Hitoka were left together after the forming of the card tables. They walked idly as the ladies talked, but it was not long before Shoyo fell into another conversation, with an elderly, but jolly, widow of town.

“But is Sir Hinata still single?” the lady said. “That will not do, he is older than the rest of you! I thought this year we might have some tidings of a suitable match, at least.”

“He has so many friends,” said Shoyo, “That though he may be deficient in certain aspects of felicity, he is well enough supplied in others to be happy, for the present.”

They talked on, and Tobio was obliged to look around for where his sister had been drawn off to, until his wife suddenly pulled back all of his attention.

“Though I do wish, a little selfishly,” she laughed, “That my own husband might borrow half of his inclination, and a great deal of his skill, for forming and maintaining friendships. If Tobio were much like him, it would certainly increase his wife’s consequence in the world. But I am sure he does not think of that.” She flashed a smile at him. “He is hardly aware of how much he gains himself, by all my most lovely and amiable acquaintances here in our part of the world. You knew him, of course, before we were married, and what a solitary soul he was determined to be.”

“Why, of course, it was only Miss Hinata Shoyo, we all knew, who could have any allure for him. _You_ were the only effective means of drawing him down from the desolate north. I do recall all the neighborhood speculation about it. Such a fun time in the village that was! Though I hope he bears no resentment for our making sport of him, for every young person must bear with that for a little, you know, and then there is time all the rest of one’s life to be given credit for wisdom and goodness.”

She blushed, and said:

“Oh no, I do not think it did him any harm. And if he believes it did, I shall reason the resentment out of him, depend upon it.”

Where was his sister now, for such a speech was impossible to pardon, even with all the magic of feminine charm and sisterly partiality! But he heard it alone, and his indignation determined that he leave, and engage no more with any group _she_ was a part of.

When Shoyo turned, and found his place empty, her smile fell.

“Where has he gone off to? How it will be possible to shepherd my children as I also track him, I do not know.”

As she and Hitoka moved along, she looked in earnest, though she could hardly see more than ladies’ shoulders and men’s tailcoats through the crowd. They had stopped now, and Sir Tanaka was saying:

“How do you like a husband, then?”

“Were you speaking to me?”

“You are the only one of us with a husband!” Saeko said, as her brother and his friend Nishinoya laughed.

“It is very good,” said she. A smile broke her face and for a moment she could not speak.

“He treats you well enough?” Tanaka prompted.

“He would not spoil me for a kingdom,” she laughed, “But I feel I am treated very well, on the whole. And I am pleased to have him. Sometimes when I happen to see him suddenly in the house, I think ‘goodness, who is _that_? It cannot be any husband of mine.’”

They laughed at her. She scowled and flushed.

“We ought never to let him hear anything of that,” said Nishinoya, “His head is already disproportionately large, and would grow several sizes more.”

“Nor does it reflect well on his wife’s presence of mind,” said Saeko.

“None of you can know how it is, having no partners of your own,” Shoyo said. “It is a very different kind of life from being with one’s parents, coming to be there by their choice, but in marrying you are there because the other wants you to be.”

“It sounds astoundingly similar to me,” said Tanaka, “Except you would not say of your parents ‘oh goodness who are you?’”

They laughed again, and she left them in impatience and went off to search for her husband. He was seated at an empty table away from the occupied ones. She was slightly exasperated by it, but she sat down with him and related all the domestic news she had gathered of their village friends. He said very little, here, and when they had returned to her parents’ home for the night.

 

After next day’s breakfast, they saw his sister off. She thanked the Hinatas, not warmly, but acutely and soundly, for their hospitality. She left Tadashi blushing after a hug and a graceful handshake. When she had hugged Koushi, she turned to Shoyo and her husband.

“Keiji,” she wailed, “When can we even expect to see you again?”

“That can hardly be predicted. I ask that you write me as often as you have time to do, even if you have received no reply to the previous letter yet. My mother too finds great joy in mail from you.”

“Oh yes, of course we will write, depend upon it!”

Shoyo embraced her, rubbing her cheek against her neck. Keiji moved to hug her brother also. He held onto her in earnest, and she said at his ear:

“You are troubled by something. We have no more time together, but do write to me about it.”

He handed her into the coach. Kageyama’s carriage had already pulled in behind, and as soon as Keiji was gone, the couple’s things were loaded, and Shoyo was bowing to her parents and hugging her sisters.

“Tobio—” she beckoned him over. “I hugged your sister, and you ought to hug mine.”

Koushi was eager, Tadashi a little more shy, but Shoyo was excessively pleased with it all, and once he had said ado to her parents, they entered the carriage.

When they had been moving for very few minutes, he cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him.

“I have lately been dissatisfied with your behavior.”

She gaped, in obvious astonishment.

“And how is that? In what behaviors?” she cried.

“You have been too assertive in all this,” said he. “Impulsive in your introductions, incessant in your way of entertaining. Your excessive attentiveness to some has left a most displeasing inattention for others, which has unfortunately not gone unseen, nor unfelt.”

“Why, Tobio,” she said, color rising in her face, “I have never had any practice in the duties that have been required of me this holiday. It was the very first time we had guests, and we have hardly been out since we married. I cannot believe that you would not allow for some small mistakes on my part, and yours, both.”

“I will not allow them because I did not, in fact, perceive them to be mistakes, so much as they were a reflection of your character.”

“My character?”

“You cannot deny that you showed a consistency in being too eager to confine yourself to proper introductions, and in disregarding the variations of your audiences as you spoke, on the whole behaving much like an upstart.”

“An upstart! Might I ask if there was anyone among our guests, or among the whole village, who would second your opinion of my being an upstart? My mother, as we all know, offered me help and direction, as her station allows for, and I attended to her advice most readily. But your sister certainly did not let on that any of what transpired during her stay was minded, and mine never did either.”

“Your sisters,” he said more loudly, “Are so fully settled under the power of your charms that they can see no impropriety in you, can speak no ill of you that you will not first admit to of your own accord.”

“ _That_ ,” said Shoyo, “Is utterly false. My sisters and I practice perfect honesty in that which matters most, and my eldest makes no infrequent habit of correcting her juniors as she feels the need to. But what can be made of your sister’s apparent pleasure and contentedness during her stay? If you could repeat to me her points of censure, I would be obliged to believe it, but if you cannot, is there anything in your account of my offenses to propriety?”

“Offenses against propriety is the very term for what I speak of, and I account for our family’s not coloring over their occurrences, by their not being in the position I am in, and not having to feel them in the place I have felt them. You cause me to appear weak to the world, and worse, the weaker of us two.”

She blinked at him, in soft confusion, and spoke slowly.

“Well, if someone is to be the weaker at all, it will have to be you some of the time, Tobio, for it would certainly be unfair that the lot always fall to me.”

This reply went sorely against his serious approach to the matter, and his own reply came with very little restraint.

“It would be much more unfair to me, Shoyo, than to yourself. As the man engaged in a direct union with you, I have watched all the duties and stations which are rightfully mine be taken up by you, even to introductions of my own sister to those you are barely acquainted with yourself. I have heard you take credit for our happiness, have heard you make sport of me to relations who I had wished rather to earn the greater respect of, and have heard your dearest wishes for my improvement given out to any and all town gossips who would delight in repeating them. It is not a man’s place to appear so wholly governed, it has done me no credit and certainly done me no justice, as the provider and protector of this tie between us.”

“Provider and protector, what are you talking of? I will not acknowledge what I _believe_ I have heard. But you are ashamed of me, I have caused you some embarrassment? Is it wholly impossible for you to endure a little of that?”

“Need I remind you of your own words, one evening a short while ago?” said he. “They were, as I recall, that real love ought to make one’s conduct careful, that it ought to guard them against that very thing, to be the cause of embarrassment.”

“I also said that real love would not make them afraid, not afraid of some small, slight mistakes, for that would be misery and there is no place for love in that! If you will not bear, ever in our life together, the disapproval of one single person—”

“I have not accrued disapproval at your hand. I have accrued dishonor.”

She swelled, now, to equal anger.

“You think,” she said, “That because I am a woman, because we just so happen to be one and the other, that I am to bow to you and your title of husband in public?”

He attempted to interrupt, but her emotions had been loosed completely, and she would go on.

“That is your idea of a union? That is your instruction for how I am to make you proud of me? To appear under your power, meek and governed as is possible to be without the actual abuse of your physical advantage over me? How can you believe in such a thing? How is it possible to be so very selfish?”

“I do not speak of my _beliefs_ ,” he said, “I speak of the order of our society, as we so happen to be one and the other, and if you have been up to this point ignorant of it I wonder at your father calling yours a developed mind, I wonder at his giving consent to marry if you had no real idea of the norms which govern the enterprise.”

“I wonder too, that I gave _my_ consent to one who would call our marriage a business endeavor! And now I can assure you, sir, that if you have thought little of me these past days, it is incomparable to how little I am thinking of you at this very moment. I will not listen to another word from you.”

“I had no more to give,” he said. “I would not waste them on ears so determinedly deaf.”

“A funny thing to say to _me_.”

He made no more answer.

There was not a word or look between them the rest of the hour and quarter home. Several of the servants had gathered out of doors to greet their arrival, and were nothing short of astonished when their mistress burst out of the carriage and ran away behind the house. Mr. Kageyama was in a towering temper himself, observable in a deeply deliberate scowl and quiet, clipped commands. He went into the house alone.

Shoyo did not come inside until the late afternoon. She pretended not to see him in the parlor, and went upstairs for a long bath. She did not come to the dinner table while he was there. When he came up to bed, she was already under the covers. He changed in the dark, and she remained soundless and still, though he saw that her eyes were open to the room.

They said no goodnight.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The feud continues! it appears to be a contest of who can offend the most while saying the least

Tobio had a small study on the second floor. His books covered every wall, and he had a writing desk by a west-facing window, and room to pace. In the morning, after inquiring of the servants, she found him there. He gave her a dark look as she entered, but she leaned coolly against a bookcase and informed him:

“I will be writing letters today, to my family, and to your sister, thanking them for their visit. And you shall have no part in my thanks.”

He slowly raised his eyes, to burn her with his glare, but when she did not cower, and her eyes did not flinch, and she did not falter at all, he turned and snatched a blank sheet of paper from the corner of his desk.

“That is of no consequence, for I intend to write myself, in order to apologize for my wife’s folly. Perhaps once you have received the due scolding from our family, your shame will be equal to what mine has been.”

She puffed out her lip and scowled, then stomped from the room, skirts swishing. By midday there were four letters stamped and in the hands of a servant, the addresses written in so ill a way as made the man wish he were not obligated to deliver them to post, as it was very doubtful they would do either of his employers much favor.

 

She was in the upstairs parlor in the evening, and by the time he had noticed her, it was too late, she would see his leaving as a submission, so he stayed, reading as she stitched and flipped through books absently. When it was nearing time to go up to bed, she spoke to him, loudly, unafraid of breaking the silence.

“Are you prepared yet to give a better account of yourself than you did yesterday? I am curious, anyway, to hear what more you dare say.”

“You would have nothing of what more I would say.”

“I have asked you to speak!” She jumped out of her chair and halfway across the room. “You can repulse me no further than what you have already inflicted, and if it is an apology I would welcome it, so in either manner you are safe to speak.”

“I recant nothing of what I said. But you shall hear it again only in memory, as I do not intend to repeat myself,” he said.

“No, you think me far too base and foolish to understand such lofty constitution and theory as you would see practiced. But I will take the liberty of informing you that your constitution is outdated, and your theory founded on ignorance.”

He looked sharply at her.

“Surely, as your husband, it is not asking too much that you show some measure of deference, some obedience to me.”

Her mouth fell open as she recoiled.

“Obedience! I will not promise to obey you, and you injure every last one of my feelings,” she cried, “In believing that I ought to!”

“Feelings may mend soon enough. There are kinds of wounds which are more lasting, however.”

“You speak again of your pride, but I have heard enough of that, I cannot bear to have it talked of when I must stand it all the time that we are not alone. If you were capable you might have earned my deference, but as for obedience, you never shall have it.”

He stood up, that his glare might be more effective.

“If this you insist, you insist that I shall not have a wife. Without it you are a woman shamelessly intruding on my property, eating of my table and—”

“You need not say more,” she cried, cracks threatening her voice. “A wife would share your room, but since I do not meet your qualifications for one, you will sleep on your own! And now you have made me cry two days in a row!”

She flew past him, into the hall and up the stairs. In a moment he came thundering after her, and she sped up, running past their room, around the corner and into a guest room.

She did not sleep, but fumed, ranted under her breath, paced from wall to wall. It was an hour, but felt like ten minutes, until she lit a candle and went out, intending to confront him wherever he was, whatever manner she found him in, awake or asleep, dressed or bare, serene, or as furious as she.

He had been lying on their bed in his long johns, until she flung open one of the doors.

“If a servant has encouraged your return, they were speaking falsely on my behalf.”

“I am owed more explanation than this,” she said, “For how the true nature of your character was not to be revealed through the application of friends and schoolmates, that it could so wholly escape my family’s notice in the time they knew you, at the time I was already set against you and wanted of all things to hear that you thought as much, or I should say, so little, of my sex. But you must have been hiding such a monstrous secret all along, for even at the first you were offended that I would work, because some might perceive your lack of control over me. This is proof then that you do want such control, and in marrying me you chose very ill, for I never intended to commit to an arrangement which offers me so little respect.”

“If you had detected more in my opinion at that time,” said he, “Perhaps you would have been more thoughtful on our relationship, and I need not have endured all this at the holiday. You would not have done our public regard such a blow.”

“Do not reproach me for mistakes that I have already been sorry for,” she sobbed, “And asked you to pardon. And it was not our public regard which suffered, but only your regard for me. Why would you desire a connection to someone you have less respect for by rule of nature? How could you promise me happiness while never intending to value me as much as I have always been valued? You were monstrously deceptive, if such is the case.”

He stood up.

“I do _not_ undervalue you,” he said. “What proof can you have of that, with all I have given and delighted in with you these five months? Your interpretation of my complaint, dramatic as your interpretations always are, makes me a monster indeed, when all I have wished for is conformity to the general practice of giving a husband certain preference in public—”

“If you respected me as you ought, you would not ask this of me, to pretend inferiority in the eyes of the village!”

“I once thought the smallness of your mind, a product of your unvaried society and your parents’ sheltered manner of living, charming. Now I am rather astounded at your true unbridled ignorance. Have you never heard that ‘men will chisel, and women will polish?’”

She cried out wordlessly.

“I could have heard it from half the mouths of the entire world,” she said, “And it would not pain me as it does to hear from yours. Why do you need to speak to me in such a manner?” She gasped through her tears. “I will burst from grief.”

She returned to the doors, rubbing over her eyes with her fist. But just as she would reach for the handle, the door snapped closed, and she jumped and looked up at him standing over her. Her eyes went wide; then she glared back.

“You too were deceptive,” he said, sparks crackling in his eyes. “You have obviously harbored strong opinions which I had no idea of while we were courting.”

“You had no idea that I wished to be treated as a proper person, my gender aside? You had no idea that my family was utterly respectful of me as an individual, and that I had been raised to expect the same of a husband? You were rather absent-minded in your visits, I must believe.”

“You are unjust in what you level against me,” he said. “I have not written such rules as one sees followed, and my belief or otherwise in the truth behind them does not make me any less under their obligation. While I am what I am and while such dictations exist I would not have them disgraced by us! If you wish this disgrace upon me, _you_ show the lack of respect.”

“A thing I am not at all afraid to show anymore, for you will have exactly what you give.”

She put her hand on the door handle.

“I am going out. Now.”

“You will not be allowed back in, when you should come next hour.”

“Depend upon it, that you will lose count of the hours in which I do not come back.”

He stepped away from the door, and she went out. She attempted to slam it shut, but from inside he prevented it, until she used all her strength to force it closed. She did not reach the other room, before falling to her knees and crying.

 

The next day, the one after which was to see Tobio off to work, they watched from separate windows as a snowstorm rolled in, and while they were in their beds, listened as it struck. It continued all through the following day, preventing everything but a few runs out to check the horses. When it did stop snowing, it became apparent that no one would be able to use the road for some time. Being kept from his work made Tobio especially irritable, and certainly uninterested in reconciling. She had no desire to talk at all, at present, though if he would snap at her about some unrelated thing, she could not help replying with equal venom.

It was the third day since the snow had stopped. Shoyo had disregarded, once again, the summons to dinner, and in his impatience he was walking about and calling for her, when he encountered her at the bottom of the stairs, playing with the cat, and ignoring his voice. When she saw him coming, she stood up with the cat in her arms, turning her head away. He glared.

“You will come up to bed,” he said.

“No, I will not.”

He swelled, to his full imposing size.

“Civility and propriety aside, now you will deliberately rebel against me?”

“There is only need to rebel for those who are beneath a superior.”

He promptly turned his shoulder and walked away up the staircase.

“I shall not follow you up,” she said. “Mochi—” she hefted him in her arms— “Will sleep with me. I do not care that he is not allowed in the bedrooms.”

Tobio went up silently.

 

For the entirety of three days, there was not a word between them. Shoyo was relieved at the same time as she was furious.

As soon as the roads were good enough, he went to town. She could not say that she was surprised at his staying away twelve days, but where she had expected to find some peace, she grew progressively more nervous, until when he returned she was waiting at the bottom of the stairs, an attention she had resolved she would not pay him.

Tobio, confirming her exact location with a glance, made to go around her and up the stairs. In a single instant, all the composure and steadiness she had practiced snapped.

“ _You_ —” She leapt in front of him— “Ought to be ashamed, wholly ashamed! I should not be feeling half of what I do on your behalf, you do not deserve it. Did you think of nothing at all while you were away, did you not use the time to do one bit of good?”

“I thought of my work, which keeps us in this house,” he shouted back.

Her eyes spit fire, but he did not allow her to speak.

“I spent my time in matters I can govern, matters which some good can still be done for, in which my effort will pay.”

“Could you not have done something on your way home, which would justify your escape from me, proving some purpose in it? You, who claimed you were not the kind to leave your problems behind you?”

“I would work when work is required.”

“Then you lied to me, along with everything else,” she said low.

“I told you that sense would guide my address of my problems,” he snapped, “And since in this case I have applied every reasonable measure to mend the faction, without success, sense tells me that I may go as much as I choose. Sense also tells me now, in my coming back, that I ought not to expect any improvement in my absence.”

“Oh, yes, because I am that which needs improvement,” said she. “I was chosen for this very thing, how many and how great my flaws are, that you might have all the lifelong enjoyment of mending them, to the very last, and finally triumphing in the end by having created the perfect wife, while at the same time killing her from the inside out!”

“You know nothing of true social grace,” he said. “You expect all the world to accept you just as you are, you believe that you will never have to amend your behaviors or curb your faults in the slightest to promote your character and that of your husband’s, because you have been all your life surrounded by people who would make allowances for you on account of your beauty or your silliness or your family name. You expect everyone to find you amiable and wonderful and to esteem you as much as your own family—”

“I do _not_ expect it. _I_ am not the one who concerns themselves with what everyone thinks. I do not care what they think of me! They may think what they like! You are my husband, and I care what _you_ think, how you think of me is the most important!” she choked. “And am I to find after five months of marriage that my own husband thinks so little of me?”

He shook his head. “If you were truly so earnest in seeking _my_ good opinion, you would be ready to do as I asked, where it concerns our social standing.”

“I might be able to,” was her reply, “Except that you have called for alterations on the motive that I am a woman. From this I must necessarily believe that it is not small parts, but the whole of me, that you do not value as you ought, as I expected you to, and believed for a short time that you did.”

“This is only going over what we have before.” He moved away. “I refuse to be assaulted by your painfully ill-informed opinions again.”

 

At different times during the sleepless night which followed, she pieced together a pleading letter.

_To My Dear Mother,_

_I have been very afraid that this letter will cause you pain, but as there is nothing more to be done by me than apply to you for advice, I have resolved to send it, and hope that you can make the best of me and not allow yourself too much worry on your grown daughter’s account. You might share this with any of the rest of the family, should you deem it necessary, but I have addressed you in particular because the similarity of our domestic situation suggests that you are the most likely to possess the kind of knowledge I should benefit from._

_My dear mother, a most dreadful, seemingly impassable feud has come between the regard my husband has for me, and I for him. I will not say how it arose, only that it is unconnected to your visit, and I will not give the particulars of the argument, only my assurance that none of you, nor his visiting family, is at the center of the dispute. He likely has much more regard for you, at the moment, than for myself. To be sure, you are unsurprised to hear that I would insist on my way, but I will have you know that in this matter, which I consider to be very serious, I will insist that I cannot be wholly in the wrong, for some of the things which were leveled against me have injured my self-respect, and the very value I give myself as human. Perhaps my thinking errs, but I am inclined to think that anything which could do such damage is either untrue in its meaning, or was delivered in a very wayward and inappropriate manner, thus doing more harm than was intended, or was necessary to make me understand the point. I do not then feel, you see, that all apology is due on my side, but I have seen in him no reason to think he is becoming more inclined toward some apology himself. I suspect that he will have nothing to do with me until I beg pardon for certain missteps of mine, and until he secures from me certain promises about the future of my conduct and of our relationship dynamic. However, I cannot find it in myself to make such promises, at least not to the extent he would have me do, for it goes against my character; I would offend myself. I do not know how to speak without showing my anger, nor do I know what ought to be said first. Would it be easier, my mother, to submit myself perfectly to his formed image of me? I cannot see how I would ever be happy with him again, but perhaps I will grow accustomed to it. You must know better than I how a heart would heal in such a situation. Perhaps I should not speak to him at all, until we have separated our feelings enough to have a sincere discussion. I fear that I truly have done him some great wrong, which was unintentional, brought on only by my being myself. If it be so, and if you know those specific instances and behaviors which he must be referring to as having offended him, I ask that you not send them in your reply, for to hear it all again from you would be wholly unbearable. I would have to run away from everyone I love, and live with shame as my only companion forever. I can admit to you that I do believe I have done wrong, for my faith in his discernment is such that I think it hardly likely at all that he would err in his detection of impropriety, but as I believe his approach to pointing out my wrongs unjust and unwarranted, I find myself refusing to admit to his accusations, and if I were to apologize, probably would not give the apologies that are most likely to please him._

_As I know nothing of what a lasting marriage truly entails, I am prepared for any kind of advice from one who must know all about it. My only hope is in you, the dear one who knew me before anyone else, and must see what parts in me are folly, and what are the best parts, those I should always defend. Please do not think that my parents failed to set a good example, for I am sure it was the best kind of example, only that I did not pay mind enough to learn its lessons. I am sorry to have occasioned pain, and hope that none of you will cry, for I have done enough of it, and do not want my own burdens taken up by you. I await your reply with anxiety, and as I wait, do my best not to make things the worse by acting out at him yet again. I hope that the house has succeeded, as it always did, in keeping you in comfort during the storm, and the servants and horses have not strained themselves too much in clearing away the snow. Send my regards to anyone you may see these two weeks. Thank you again for helping to make Keiji feel welcome._

_With Love,_

_Shoyo_

 

She did not include in the letter that she had for the last few days felt physically ill; she would break into a sweat, as if she were coming under something, and her head would hurt before she had even finished dressing in the morning. The worst was when, at an unsuspecting moment, a sharp pain hit her on the inside, with it a terror seizing her, and she felt in that instant that she only clung to life, as her heart was being crushed inside her. In the moments after such an episode, she hated him, for the way he had deceived her at the very first, and for everything after.

She walked, wrote, and tried to read the novels they had been gifted. She played, but as she had not learned many sad songs, and had not the will to learn them now, she never spent long at the instrument. She played with her cat, and went with the groomer to see the horses. Him she did not see, if she could help it, for while it did not feel that he belonged to her, all his beauty was only a thorn in her side, and his refusal to acknowledge her was a veritable sword there.

She was searching for Mochi one evening, to no avail; but he had always been in the room with her, since the beginning of her misery, and she was close to succumbing to tears once again, if she could not find him. In this state she encountered her husband, who had a moment to watch and discern what she did, before she noticed him. She dropped her eyes away and pursed her lips, waiting until he would go. Instead, she heard his voice.

“I saw him,” he said, “Going under a chair in the portrait room.”

She raised herself from her knees and walked past him out of the room. She knew he had said it with the aim of hurting her. He wished her to know with certainty that he did not care when, if, she would return to their room, and that he would not relent, any time soon. She retrieved Mochi, brought him to the guest room, and held him in her lap on the bed as she silently cried.

 

She received a reply to her letter several days later than she would have hoped. It was not to be supposed that her mother cared little for her suffering. The explanation was in fact more horrible: her mother must have struggled for what to say. Nevertheless, it was read as if expected to give a spiritual awakening.

_My dearest Shoyo,_

_Do not believe that to know you are unhappy does not grieve me to the soul, when I say that in marriage, as in life in general, there are bound to be periods of unhappiness. One must come to occasionally expect such periods. However, you wrote of an impasse which you believe will render you unhappy for quite some time, perhaps permanently. The magnitude of your concern motivated me to apply to your father for additional perspective, but I can assure you that the matter has been kept between us two only, though your sisters cannot but suspect that something is amiss, from my reaction to and subsequent unwillingness to discuss your latest letter._

_My beautiful, wonderful daughter, you need not question your feelings; have as much faith in your heart as I do. If you feel injury, believe that you have indeed been injured. But I beg you to have faith in your husband also, as your father and I do. He cares far too much for you, to knowingly hurt you so deeply. Perhaps this is where the misunderstanding lies: he does not know the extent of your pain over his rebuke. I have known you forever, and I hope that you can hear from me, without its occasioning additional pain, that yours is a short temper, and that you almost always speak with all your feelings, holding none of them back. I do not mean that either is a fault, for it is only your nature and your strength of heart. But to my point. It may be that your anger has conveyed only that, and he cannot detect the pain which is at its root. It may be helpful, then, to refrain from speaking, and practice listening, for a time. In this way you will not provoke him to say more than he intended, and when you have done so it is likely that he will pay you the same respect, and have you speak, as he would listen._

_Your father stresses that you ought to take care to acknowledge the perspective he brings on his side, as a man, having been socialized and educated in a different manner than yourself. None of your parents were perfect, and neither can either of you be. I caution you against discrediting him or yourself. In a well-matched marriage, which we absolutely consider yours to be, there is good and right on both sides. Neither will very often be wholly in the wrong. It is of the utmost importance that one does not make an enemy of the other, and see to it that everything about the other must be ill-meant and ill-judged. On your part, you might try mending your behavior to the extent that you see justifiable, without making all-encompassing promises (promises of such a kind are hardly to be kept anyway, by more than one in one hundred thousand people), and should he take notice of your efforts, and of your willingness to attend to matters which involve his greater happiness, he will likely grow less severe in his censure, and make as steady an examination of himself as he did of you._

_You would be wiser than many, your parents included, in giving him greater pardon than you think he deserves, due to the fact of your both being so new to a relationship of this kind. Even with the very best example (which we can say in your case was not present), one cannot know exactly how to act, for one does not know in particular how things will be felt, until they are, on this level of intimacy. He must be equally uncertain as to how he should act, when he should speak and when he should refrain from speaking, and what manner will be best for making you understand him, and he you. I know how humbling and frightening it is to be the first to do these things, to forgive, to make adjustments, and our advice would likely bear more results if you could both read it with the same amount of openness, and the same kind of preference for its writers, but if that were the case, yours would not be the kind of relationship it is. It may be that he has written to his own family on the same head; how comforting it would be to know as much, but anyhow, you should assume the best of him while you can. While our unions are still in their infancy, we retain those certain kinds of selfishness we were used to harboring and indulging, that could do no harm while we were on our own. As I believe you have found, there is difficulty in getting rid of them, at first, and even in desiring to, but things can only improve as they are done away with, even little by little. I have settled on these self-centered habits as likely contributing to the issue of how you address each other, and what you mentioned as a probable fault in his manners as he would attempt to communicate grievances. As for the central disagreement of principle or of moral, whichever it may be, I am afraid I can offer little solution. But I will beg you not to despair, my daughter, for people who are the most intimate, who have the most contact and must practice the most in dealing with one another, have a much better chance than politicians, casual acquaintances, or even old friends can, of coming to see the errors and the strengths on both sides, and of reconciling the two so as to render the ideas functional with one another, even if they are never to be completely compatible. And it does not seem to your father and I, after these years together, that perfect compatibility is to be more desired than simple functionality, nor do we believe it could lead to any greater happiness. That it would lead to the deterioration, rather than to the improvement, of mind and heart, on both sides, we are fairly certain._

_I have organized our advice as well as I could, but fear it will be difficult to make anything of, as we could not decide on any one best recommendation, and could only conjecture about the particulars of the dispute. We do not doubt, however, that you will come through without lasting harm, for you are both marvelously strong, and can only be more so together. I am sorry, my dear, as I have always been, that life is so imperfect, that it would depress your spirits, and give pain to your soft and admirably lovely heart. If you cannot at present sustain yourself by the reminder of all the things which convinced you to consent to the match, perhaps you can find some small peace in remembering that your father and I, and your sisters and brother, thought your chance of happiness so good that we gave our full measured blessing. Have faith, then, in our faith in him, while your own would be shaken. I love you, Shoyo, and hope you soon feel better. You must continue to take care of yourself, and continue to appreciate the smaller sources of happiness, as you have always been apt to._

_Love,_

_Your affectionate mother_

 

Try as she might to follow the most urgent of the advice, not to despair, the letter almost single-handedly caused her remaining hope to collapse. It appeared to her that in the time since she had written, things had already escalated beyond what her mother’s advice was tailored to. Kageyama was past the point of speaking, so that she could not listen. He was too stubborn, she thought, to accept small allowances on her part; it would not work to soften him as her mother suggested. She must conclude that the situation was too far gone to employ her parents’ tactics. And, deep in all her mortification and self-reproach, she could see more plainly than before that her parents were not the same kind of couple as she and her husband. To ask their advice had been placing unfair pressure on them, for her mother had expressed dissatisfaction with what she could offer, while Shoyo should not have even expected so much as she had received. Her parents were probably incapable of imagining such a horrible thing as the way they had spoken to one another. That they would never, not even in their first year, have done such a thing themselves, of this she was absolutely certain. Her mother could never have scorned her father in the way Shoyo now scorned him. And her father could not have hurt her mother so much if he tried, and he would not try in the first place.

Such were her musings, as she doubled and tripled the length of her walks, in spite of the deep snow and frigid winds. And not all the sparkling hills and cloud-splitting sunsets, not all the warm baths and teas, not the sweetest companion animal in the world, could combat her grief, her disappointment.

 

For the sake of her parents, and their effort to be of use to her, she would attempt to implement any measure of what they had provided. She spent the whole morning on a furious walk, to rid herself of all nervous energy, that she might go to him in composure, on the outside at least. She returned to the house and sent a servant to fetch him, and seated herself there in the enclave near the front door.

When he came, she found that she could not lift her eyes to his face. Neither did she have the strength in her voice to ask him to sit. She supposed that he would, if he decided to consent to her plan, so there was nothing to do but say what she had practiced.

“Tobio…” Her voice caught on his name, but she swallowed and went on. “I—I want to understand you—To understand fully, your point of view on the matters between us. If you would be pleased to speak again, I will listen and not interrupt, this time, no matter if you would say something which offends me. However, I would have you be more careful in the use of tone, for when you sound too harsh I cannot bear to listen, and then I should break my promise. But perhaps by hearing more I can give more justification to your view.”

She heard him exhale. Then he said:

“Your reactions to hearing my point of view were direct enough to assure me that the understanding between us is perfectly sound. They were, however, quite distinct from the reactions I wished for, and I would not hear them again, nor have you attack my views in some other manner once you have gained my trust in your open-mindedness.”

“This,” she cried, on her feet already, “Is how you reply to my earnest wish for improved communication between us, to be so cold and—disdaining—”

Her impatience turned from him onto herself, for losing herself so quickly to anger, and she left him, disappointed, and brought to tears yet again.

Her mother’s milder suggestions, the ones which were more pleasing to Shoyo’s own feelings, would not do, then. It was hopeless, utterly hopeless, to give a little and receive a little in return, until they could meet on even ground. But she could not stand any longer to withhold everything, even as he did. She did not care if she lost, if she proved the less resolute, because his state must be entirely different from hers anyhow, he could not be bearing half so much of headaches, of discomfort, of nervousness and fear of seeing her and being seen. If he was tethered only by their physical intimacy and the public oath itself, if hers was the only heart committed to their marriage, it was not a fair game to begin with, and she would stop playing while there were still pieces of herself left to salvage.

Since their return after the holiday, she had not entered the breakfast room while he was there. Today she did, but made no move toward taking a seat, only stood near the table, waiting for his attention. Reluctantly, he moved his eyes to her; when he saw the pale of her face, and her quiet seriousness, he turned his head fully.

Shoyo said:

“You are breaking my heart.”

That this had no visible effect on him made her tears well with vengeance.

“If obedience is what it takes to protect myself,” she went on, “Then I will be perfectly obedient.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded, once, with finality. He turned back to his coffee, looking very much as if he had just won. Neither her pride nor her shame could bear it, and she fled the room.

 

He saw her again at dinner. She sat well away from him, but she ate, as he had not seen her do for some time. When they were near the end of the meal, he said to her:

“I desire that you will sleep in our room.”

She made no answer, but that night she came. He was undressing. She pretended not to see him, and proceeded with her own business. They lay down together, though there was no pleasure for either in it.

It was quite possible that she felt more miserable than she had at any point. _He_ was finding that a sullenly obedient woman could be just as irritating as a disobedient one, and even less of a domestic comfort.

 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quiet sadness

As they passed through their sixth month of marriage, there was little to be said. He spoke only of household matters, as they arose, and she said nothing at all unless he applied directly to her. He never asked her to join him for breakfast, and she hardly saw him after he had left the room in the morning, until dinner that night.

Though they shared their bed, it was a space which neither could be comfortable in, and where neither felt secure enough to ever say a word. If by the morning she was attached to him, he shook her off without bothering about whether she woke or not. Sometimes she lay awake for hours, afraid to move for fear of irritating him, but unable to find rest. Mochi sometimes scratched at the door, missing her, but since she dared not mention it in any form to Tobio, she could only listen, sometimes with tears running from her eyes down her cheeks.

There were evenings when she went to bed before him; he followed her shortly, and gave her particular looks, long and penetrative. She fancied that he was expecting at any moment a fit of hysterics. She only turned away from his expectation, and lay down with her back to him. Almost as horrible as everything else was the unbroken silence after they had put out all the lights and lay down beside each other, the silence she could not fall comfortably into without saying a goodnight.

 

The pain had stopped roaring at her in waves, and settled into her chest as a steady, tiresome ache. Shoyo, for her part, pretended as best she could that such was the way they had always been. She pretended not to mind the quiet, the fasting from touch, because if he was determined to withhold this, she would not let on that she missed it. It was easiest to function this way by imagining she had no companion at all. She was a productive correspondent, a doting pet owner, a prolific walker. She was more industrious than she had ever been in needlework, and even attempted some drawings of her cat. Her instrument, she had no heart to play. She read bits from their novel set, though to do so silently and alone had never been her favorite way of enjoying the pastime. If he happened to come across her, and happened to ask what she was reading, she would hold up the book cover for him to see. Once, he asked what she was writing; when she slid the paper toward him, he pulled his eyes away and walked off to the other side of the room, and did not ask again.

 

One day she woke at nearly noon. As she was leaving the bed, it occurred to her that she did not know how many days it had been since he spoke to her, nor what it had been about. She sat herself right back down, and cried for an hour under the covers.

She did not see him when she left their room, was informed that he had gone to the village. She wandered from room to room for a while, until finally resolving that when he came back, she would see to it that she had something to speak to him about.

When he returned, he came to the drawing room to deliver her a letter from her brother. She took it, then looked a little to the side of him, and spoke.

“We have received an invitation,” said she, “From the Narita-Kinoshitas, and I have yet to send a reply. They would have us for tea, or for dinner if we had rather.”

He made no answer, waiting for her to say more.

“I thought,” she said, “That it would be an opportunity, the first of its kind since…And I might be tested in my promise. If you wished for such a thing.”

She ventured a glance at him. He was watching her steadily.

“They have made us an invitation?”

“Only the two of us,” she said, “And his sister might be there.”

He looked longer at her.

“We are obliged to go, if they have invited us,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I have no objection, if you have none.”

“I do not.”

“Then you ought to send an affirmation.”

“I will. When does it suit you to go?”

“Perhaps next week, early rather than late.”

She nodded, and reached under the desk to pull out a sheet of paper. He watched her write the opening, then realized that there was no chance of hearing her speak more, and went away.

Her nerves began to itch at her almost as soon as the reply was sent. The weather for the proposed day was predicted to be poor, and she did not know whether she was more relieved that her foolish scheme might be postponed, or whether she would prefer to have it over with. When the storm blew in and definitely put off the engagement, it became clear that to act differently than she had always done in front of old friends would have been deeply embarrassing, and made her unhappy. She suspected she might not have been capable of going through with things that way, anyhow. Soon, Tobio went back to town, leaving her with nothing but to cycle through these thoughts.

 

As was their newly adopted custom, she did not come down to greet him when he arrived home. But this time he would seek her out, having brought something with him that he believed would give her pleasure. The new spring catalogues had been released in town, and he had gone to the trouble of procuring each one.

He found her in the piano room, where she was not playing, but apparently composing. She raised her eyes only, and dropped them fast.

“Are you in need of any new clothes?” he said. “I have the newest catalogues downstairs.”

She looked up, scowling.

“What is the matter with the clothes I have? You would have me in new ones?”

“I asked whether you were in need,” he snapped, “I did not tell you that you were.”

He left the room, not abashed yet, but in the near future, when he looked back on this gesture, he would be thoroughly ashamed of it. To try to supply her with happiness in this material thing, while he still neglected to supply it in the weightier matters of his good opinion and his respect, was in fact a great insult to her character. This he would see, but not here and now.

 

He was obliged to go away again after five days. As they were at dinner the evening before his departure, Shoyo ventured to speak to him, to ask whether Miss Hitoka might come to stay with her, for a few of the days he was away. He considered it silently for all of a minute, and did not know how the silence tormented her, made her want to shout at him, while knowing all the more that it would do her no good.

“I would not be opposed to such a visit,” he said, “If I did not suspect that your motive in giving the invitation is that you might grieve to her of your tyrannical husband in person, just as you have no doubt been doing in all these letters you send out.”

She jumped to her feet, hands flying out from her body.

“Hitoka has never been to my home!”

Before another breath had been taken by either she dropped herself back into the chair. She spoke again, with difficulty as she tried for a cooler tone.

“I have not had any visitors at all while you are at work. I did not think it would be too much to ask for one now, and only Hitoka, who I would have adopted as my sister if I did not already have two.”

“I know no harm of her,” he said after another minute. “If she would choose, she may come.”

He watched her nod once, and breathe a silent sigh.

 

Hitoka had gone by the time Kageyama returned. He sat down to another dinner with only his wife, who, instead of being more lively as he had expected, seemed, if possible, more disheartened than ever. For as often as he looked at her, she never raised her eyes, and it was not because she attended diligently to her meal.

Tobio cleared his throat.

“Has Miss Hitoka been well?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Did she bring tidings of your family?”

“She said they were well.”

When she was otherwise silent, he glanced at her, but her lips were sealed. Another minute passed, then he said:

“How did you amuse yourselves?”

“She would show me her drawings, how her skill progresses. And we looked at the catalogs—Is it alright that I gave her a few to take home?”

“Just as you please.”

It would have made her smile to hear him say this, he thought, if they were not as they were. He fancied her more depressed now, than she had been before her friend’s visit. He pondered on it that night, as he lay in a room that may as well belong to an inn, with a stranger sharing with him and a chill haunting the air between them. Undoubtedly Miss Kinoshita had shown her all of love’s attentions during her stay. Relinquishing her had left Shoyo to this, the contrast refreshing every kind of pain.

 

Kageyama had been home for a week, every day of which was the same to Shoyo, until a letter from her mother was put in her hand. It was a short letter, tending only to a matter of business. Her parents, according to the note, thought it a good idea to send Miss Yaku to her household. Shoyo saw an event to look forward to, though it could not possibly cure her in every way she seemed bound to suffer, for all the future that she could foresee. However, she would not win her husband’s favor by such logic, and in the course of the morning she was in some pains over how best to introduce the idea to him. It was the remembrance that one more rejection could not seriously deepen the wounds he had already cut, that gave her the courage to go to him.

“My parents have proposed something to us, for consideration,” she said, when she had found him, pacing from window to window in an upper room.

He turned fully toward her. “What is it?”

“They would send their Miss Yaku to serve for us. She has worked at the house since we were little girls, and I have the highest regard for her.”

“What do they mean to imply by making such an offer?”

“Only that she is very good, and they would like me to have her.”

He frowned. “If she is good to them, what motive can they have to give her up? Have you a tendency to complain of your current staff?”

“No.”

“If you indeed answer honestly, you ought to have no hesitation in showing me this letter of your mother’s.”

She scowled, and looked as if she would retort. But then she approached him, holding out the letter.

“I certainly shall not hesitate.”

As he opened it he said: “Surely they did not think the state of our house deficient, during their stay.”

“No, they did not,” she said.

_To dearest Shoyo,_

_Your father and I have decided that now is as appropriate a time as any is likely to be, for making a particular offer to you and yours which we have always intended. As your father says he has made known to you already, Miss Yaku made a pledge to us of being willing, no matter the day or hour, to serve at your house, if you should need or wish it. As the size of our household decreases, it is logical to make adjustments to the staff which maintains it; such a release, then, would duly follow our daughter’s departure, and the additional circumstance of a current, palpable disruption to our daughter’s domestic situation makes the release more logical still. We believe that it would be beneficial to both parties involved, and urge you and your husband to consider it seriously. You know Miss Yaku to be beyond capable in all the duties which have ever fallen to her while she served us. Do think too of the future, and what it will be to have so trusted a woman at your hand as you welcome children of your own into the world. Invite Tobio to seek all the particulars of her through us, and we will hold back nothing. You know the measure of your own fondness for her, and though he does not know much of her yet, we hope he may see through your eyes, and be assured enough of the advantage to your household. The simplest of replies to this letter will suffice, and without ado we will send along the documents on Miss Yaku’s wage history and accrued benefits. If these you find you are able to comply with, the matter will be fully settled. I do believe she will do a deal of good, Shoyo, and urge you again to give the idea your full consideration._

_Love,_

_Your affectionate mother_

Though it was clear from this that her parents knew _something_ , the extent of what had been relayed was wisely kept out of the letter. He could not find anything in it to be angry about, and the plea directed at him did not go unfelt, though he did not know quite what parts in him it affected. When he looked up at her, she was not watching him. He folded and refolded the letter for a short time as he considered.

“It would be of no great consequence,” he said, “To accept their offer. Mrs. Sakunami is to leave us at the start of summer. I had not intended to secure a replacement immediately, but if it can be done at so little inconvenience, she may as well come.”

She studied him for a moment.

“You consent, then?”

“I do.” He held the letter before her. “She may come at her earliest convenience. We will send a carriage for her, if she and your parents will name a suitable date.”

“I will send them word,” Shoyo said, and took the letter.

He assumed that if her censorship of him in the account of affairs to her relatives had been more potent, he would have earned greater condemnation, even indirectly, in this letter. Though he was without proof that she had attempted to turn them against him, he still suspected that her friend’s visit and return must have produced some kind of report, which had apparently been enough to make her parents take action. The inducements of acquiring an exceptional servant, however, were enough to overcome his unease and displeasure at his wife recruiting a certain ally to the house. He had faced larger disadvantage than this, anyhow, and it would not succeed in intimidating, nor bending his will.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Miss Yaku arrived within the week, her departure having been hurried along by the prediction of another oncoming blizzard. Shoyo suspected that her parents had foreseen how grateful she would be for a friend during the days when wind and low visibility trapped her inside the house from sunup to sundown. Miss Yaku was in all things proper, giving the latest tidings of her family’s health and her sisters’ engagements, and expressing her thanks of their acceptance very earnestly. When Tobio, well satisfied, had passed back out of the dining room, Shoyo stayed behind, and before Miss Yaku went into the kitchen to meet her coworkers, she gave the young lady an informed smile, and offered her arms. Shoyo gave a firm but quick embrace, not intending to dwell in it and lose herself again. She would keep her eyes their regular color, and bow her head no more during daylight.

She almost cried once, on the first evening, when the potatoes were set before her and had been arranged in the familiar rose pattern that she remembered had delighted her so much as a little girl. She thought of home, of all the chairs occupied, even her brother’s, and of all the voices that filled the rest of the space. Even the warmth that seeped from the kitchen into the dining room was cozier at her old house, she thought. She attended to her meal to occupy herself. Any place, be it the coldest, the darkest, the most perilous, would be home, if there was unconditional love there.

 

Shoyo, for all her trying, had never been good at masking her ill-humor or dejection, and though the lack of response must have her believing she was performing exceptionally, there was in fact very little escaping her husband’s notice, especially of late. Since her vow of obedience, he had expected a gradual return to her former behaviors and antics, and in future a more prudent wife, but when there was no such return, he began to doubt his victory, and suspect her of contrivance. Though he attempted to see ill-intent in everything, he never did, but only more of the same: meekness, quiet, eyes near tears, and smallness in all her body language, a smallness unrelated to her size, that had not been present before.

One night in bed, a week and a day after Miss Yaku’s arrival, he could not sleep, and was instead forcing himself to consider certain things. It must have been weeks since he had seen a smile from her. As for one directed at him, it had been much, much longer. Her family, though for the time being resolved not to directly interfere, was obviously concerned for her state of being. He thought of what her sisters must be feeling. They must wish they had never encouraged her toward him, and that she had never left their home for this one.

As for Shoyo herself, she was decidedly unhappy, and he was beginning to think it rooted less in not having her way, and more in genuine feelings of betrayal and unworthiness. While he had never considered himself to possess a particular aptitude for people, outside of anticipating and manipulating their sense of reason and emotional responses in order to win legal cases, he had not thought himself so bad as to willingly hurt one of the few people he held dear, and he would certainly never use his work-related skills in a domestic setting; but perhaps he was not so apt at separating his work from the rest of his life, as he had formerly thought.

 

Shoyo did not feel well this morning. The sun was blazing courageously through the windows of the bedroom, but she could find no pleasure in it. The heaviness in her chest was more pressing than it had been lately.

She wished for her sisters, that she might cry to them, keeping nothing inside, that they might listen as she told all her woes, wrongs, and mistakes. It was all overcoming her again, and she felt like she was adrift at sea, being drowned by wave after wave; she was used to giving herself over to her feelings, surrounded by a family that was open to receiving them. She could never have imagined an environment any less receptive, and finding herself now in just such a quiet place, she did not know what to do with any part of her.

 

Tobio was outside, overseeing the work of some hired farmhands and one of his servants. His thoughts, however, were far from the task at hand. He had been so certain all this time that he was in the right. But if the way he was acting on his feelings and beliefs was making her so utterly miserable, there must be something wrong with the way he had chosen to act.

Once he had come to this conclusion, and considering it had taken him all this time to do so, he leveled a heavy criticism against his own sense, and felt wretched. He wanted one thing only, to reconcile with her.

“That will be enough for now,” he said to the workers. “You may return another day to finish.”

They stared at him, but he was looking toward the windows of the house and did not see. His servant spoke up.

“Sir? Did you not want it done today, because of the forecast snow?”

“To let it alone a few more days can do nothing worse for it.”

And he went into the house.

She was not to be found in any room of employment, and he grew more anxious in his search, calling her name a few times, and asking a passing servant whether they had seen her. Panic jolted through him as he considered the thought of having lost her. Where or how she had gone he could not even bear to consider. He went to their bedroom, merely to have gone through them all, and was utterly surprised to find her lying on her side in their bed, at two in the afternoon.

“Shoyo?”

She made no reaction. Being aware that he did not deserve one, he only closed the door. He took off his coat and hung it on a hook, then walked to his side of the bed.

“Shoyo.”

He reached across to touch her arm. She flinched away, and in her hurry to turn placed her hand wrong on the mattress and fell off the edge of the bed.

“You—foolish—” he stammered— “Be careful.”

She got to her feet, and he shrunk, in spite of himself, as she looked fiercely into his eyes.

“Do not—Do not touch me without my permission.”

“Shoyo,” he said, “I must speak with you. About my behavior.”

Her eyes went weak at the corners. They started to swim. Her lip trembled, and she turned her head sharply from him.

Then her steps hurried her away, toward the door, but before he could call for her, she had come around the bed and put her hands into his stomach, giving a great shove that thumped him onto the mattress. Before he had fully come to terms with such a small, beautiful woman handling him, she clamored on top of him, and he felt her hand fist his hair, then her mouth collide with his. As gaping and useless as his would behave, hers was strong and bold, burying and bewildering him. But he gave into his wife’s kiss, all he knew to do, and she worked a sweet suppleness into his lips, and a rocking, rolling heat into his belly.

She broke away and stood down on the floor. Tobio propped himself on his elbows and puffed out a breath, that he might be able to say:

“Are you not interested in talking first?”

She was fighting, none too carefully, with the buttons of his fly, and he quickly obliged her with the help of his own hands. She tugged at the back of his trousers until they came down, then left them at his knees and mounted him again, bunching her dress between their chests so that she could fit their hips together. She drug her pelvis once over him and his hips bucked appreciatively. Tobio decided then that the safest course of action would be to go along with her whims, although he had least expected this of all feelings to be built up inside her. He sat up, and when she pulled his head to her neck he mouthed her there. His hand slid to cup under her breast, where he could feel she was not wearing support. Only moments later she groaned:

“My buttons.”

Her fingers started frantically at her naval, and he started at her neck, working down until they met in the middle. He had not undressed her before, and was an odd mix of eagerness and focus as he drew the sleeves off her arms and helped the dress over her head. He draped it on the edge of the bed, brushing it out smooth, until she snatched it from his care and flung it mercilessly to the floor. He blinked with apprehension, as she squirmed out of her slip and bloomers, flinging them also, then plopped back down in her lining dress and reached up her thighs for her stockings. Tobio was quick to stop her hands high, that he might be the one to slip the nylon down, running his fingers down her legs as they were exposed. She panted and gasped at his neck, covering the hot skin in presses of her lips.

“Ah—mm—”

He tried to soothe as he rubbed his hand against her back, and be gentle when he reached under her lining dress to remove her panties. He ran his fingers up her calf, the dip of her knee, the curve of her thigh, and into the mess of coarse curls between her legs. She was not slick yet, but he could only be as careful as her grip on his neck and her squirming against him would allow. With one finger he petted her, milking up the wetness. She went still, for a moment, and in the silence his exhale was audible. Then she pulled him hard to her chest and lay back in the bed. She kept his head trapped against her bosom, and certain muscles in his back seared in protest, but he continued to finger her, encouraged each time she stirred against him or let out a sound.

“O—Oh…Huh, huh.”

Suddenly she was wiggling away from him, and when he had allowed her space, she pulled up her dress, then grabbed his arms and pulled him close enough to grip his hips with her knees. He settled willingly between her legs, and lost himself for a moment as he felt down her thigh and around the cheek of her bottom. Strange, how he could so quickly lose familiarity with the details of her.

He met her eyes, and started when he saw that she was waiting impatiently for his next action. He let out a few of the buttons on his shirt, then abandoned it and hurried to undo those that restrained his hard cock. He glanced at her once again, before guiding himself to her entrance and slipping in shallowly. While he was gathering himself, she braced her feet on the mattress and snapped her hips up; he sucked in a gasp as he was buried to the hilt.

Her eyes glinted at him. He refrained from glaring back, only pulled one of her hands off his arm, slipped his fingers between hers, and held her hand against the pillow. She tugged on his shoulder, pulling him into a kiss that settled somewhere deep. It was warm, and equal; her bottom lip slotted between his, their chins pressed together, and when he opened for breath she put a quick, heated lick behind his upper lip. She settled her chin against his shoulder, close to his neck, and his back hunched uncomfortably, but it was necessary to bear it as he thrusted for her. Her head fell back for a moment, and her voice was torturously hot at his neck.

“—ah—Tobio—please—”

His ache throbbed as her heat squelched and bubbled around him. He panted, shuffling for better leverage.

“Tobio—more. Tobio, please.”

After being virtually starved from her voice, hearing his name so often induced a crisis mentality, and he moved as quickly as his pelvis would allow, stuttering and twitching through sharp thrusts, aiming for pressure on her clitoris.

“More,” she said, “More.”

Her fingers dug into his back, and she squeezed the hand holding hers, and he was ready to obey her, until it occurred to him that this was a display of his power. Overtop of her, putting his strength into her, hearing her plead to him. With all that had been said between them, he could not now assert himself. Her gasp sounded too much like a sob, and he felt too much force behind his body.

“Tobio—”

He tried to slow up gradually, thankful when she made no further protest. When he had stopped altogether, she let out a rough-edged sigh into his shoulder. He pulled out and attempted to gently deposit her on the mattress, but she clung to him, keeping him in his uncomfortable position.

“Shoyo…”

He pried at her arms; when this failed, he reached behind his neck to unlock her fingers. Once she had relinquished her hold, he pulled her skirt down over her body and smoothed it, then buttoned himself back into his underwear. As soon as he looked her way again, she caught his eyes and held them with a gaze that almost crackled.

“You have made me absolutely miserable, Kageyama Tobio.”

The white of her liner was angelic, and he looked away from her as guilt rose in him like mercury in a thermometer. When he met her eyes, she was crying. She sniffled and wiped at her cheeks with her sleeve. Tobio melted, and it was painful, the inside of him scarring and being marred into a mess. He took one of her hands, then the other, and coaxed her, with gentle pulling, to sit up. A tiny whimper came out of her, and tears slipped down her cheeks. He leaned closer, and when she allowed it, closer. He left her hands in her lap, and moved his to her arms, then her shoulders. He settled them at her neck, brushing away her tears with his thumbs as she trembled and blinked her warm eyes.

“I have treated you exceedingly poorly.”

She looked down and pressed her lips as the tears came faster. He gathered all of his strength into his voice, using the bit left to touch their foreheads together, wiping the new tears as they slipped out.

“I must have you understand,” he said, “Though things I said have deeply incriminated me, and left you with very little doubt of it, I do not believe one sex inferior to the other.”

“Oh,” she wailed, in a muffled way, “I did not think you did believe it, how could you with such a mother and sister? I only thought that you believed me, the kind of woman I am, to be inferior.”

More tears dribbled from her eyes.

“But you cannot believe it. You love me. I know that you do.”

He brushed his thumb over a tear track, hesitating only a fraction of a moment, then enveloped her in a kiss. She grabbed him around the middle. He turned her face up, and the angle of pressure made her head fall back into his waiting hand. He closed his bottom lip under hers and drug slowly through the motion; she let out a tiny sound that rocked his core. Their lips slipped off each other, and they took their breath as one.

She stared up, the awe shining so obviously in her eyes that he had to look down.

“I…have increased my dishonor tenfold, since that morning in the carriage,” he said. “What it was, is nothing now.”

She swallowed. “I hardly remember the offenses that were laid against me that day. So much has been said since then.”

“I would not say again what I then said, for my life.”

“Or for your honor?”

He shook his head.

“It was the first time that you called me Shoyo,” she said, “And in such a way, such a circumstance. I felt you had hit me, or that it would have hurt no less if you had.”

“I had every intention to harm by using your name just then.”

“I knew I was not behaving just as I ought, and perhaps that is why I was so loath to hear as much from you. I only wanted comfort, and I ought not to expect it, like a spoiled child.”

“You have already admitted to blame and made your attempt at reconciliation,” he said, more loudly. “Allow me my far overdue apologies.”

She raised her eyes to his.

“As for comfort,” he said, “You have had none of that from me, for weeks on end.”

She tremored under his hands.

“You are not well-rested, or well-fed. Your family worries for you. You have not been talked to or listened to. It is not a wonder you are miserable. I have withheld nearly everything I vowed to give.”

“Tobio…”

“I thought that I was being the stronger, and the cleverer, refusing any less than my absolute will. I thought that you should come to learn what I knew, and see your errors, and the long time it seemed to take did not worry me, for I expected as much, thinking you very foolish and ill-guided in sense.”

She gasped quietly at this omission.

“But your emotional intelligence, I came to realize, ought to make me believe that the altered manner in which you were living conveyed that you understood perfectly, very deeply, from your point of view, and that it therefore could not be any failing on your part in sense.”

“It is no wonder you would have nothing to do with me,” she said, “If you thought so little of me! But these insults aside, you cannot be so begrudging with your wife. I am not another attorney, you know. You cannot refuse me all reprieve, and have things just as you want them or have nothing at all, it will not do for us.”

“I know this, I am trying to tell you so.”

“You have not acted as if you did know.”

“I _know_.”

A lump hardened in his throat as he watched her eyes fill all over again.

“You ignored me,” she whispered.

“I thought it was necessary to breaking you.”

“It _was_ breaking me. I told you so. Every day, until today, it was—”

“Shoyo.” He swallowed. “While I was angry I could not see that your hurting was real. I was angry for far too long, and only grew angrier as I believed you to be dramatizing your dejection. Until very recently I still believed you were playing at our game, with the strategy of undoing me by extracting my sympathy.”

“How could you call it a game? You would play such a horrible game with me?”

“I know now that it was wrong to see it as such. Knowing that you felt in earnest, I immediately considered the matter as serious. One thing I would never do, is to knowingly and deliberately detach myself, while you are engaging with your real feelings. Though I realize that at this time, my promises cannot be taken much to heart.”

“Keep speaking to me,” she said suddenly, latching onto his wrists.

“I was angry with your letter writing. I thought you would be turning everyone against me. Your heart is above such things, however.”

She squeezed on his arms, so he continued.

“You must have dearly wished to return to the house of your parents. You only stayed with me because you were determined from the start to do so. You were determined, no matter if it made you so unhappy. I was determined also. I am fond of this similarity.”

“And now, apologize for ordering me to sleep here with you, and to have dinner with you, when you knew that I did not wish it and that it had only a poor effect on me.”

He frowned. “I apologize.”

“Say more.”

“I did not think it was asking much. Considering you had promised to be obedient in everything, I could have requested your compliance to far worse things. But, if it increased your misery,” he said more softly, “It was as wrong of me as anything else.”

She stared into his eyes, and said:

“Have you missed the sound of my voice, as much as I missed yours?”

A lump that he could not swallow came into his throat. He pressed his forehead to hers, out of words to say. He did his best not to hear her gasp, as tears started down his cheeks. He kept his eyes down, but felt her arms move around him, her hands press against his back. He continued to stroke over her cheeks with his thumbs; they were long since dry, and now they warmed under his touches.

“I will not relent the whole of my promise to obey,” she said eventually, “If only you will promise to obey me too.”

He met her eyes.

“As in now,” she said, “When I want to have you again, and you have me.”

He blinked, flushed, and overcame himself to scowl.

“We ought to lock the door this time,” he said.

She giggled and reached behind her to unbutton her dress. He got up to secure the room, and was turning back just as he felt her run into his side and circle her arms around him. She looked up with a creeping pink in her cheeks; it was then impossible for Tobio not to blush, seeing her bare shoulders though nothing else. He was unable to return the embrace, and shuffled toward the bed as she stuck to his hip and followed along awkwardly. When they got there he promptly tucked her under the quilt, not prepared to face her nakedness until he was equally exposed. He shed his shirt and undershirt, then his long johns. Shoyo moved up onto her knees and put her hands on his shoulders. Her thigh came a little too near his own, and he discovered that though his hardness had gone, it had not gone far. He attempted to angle himself away. Her thigh was insistent, fitted inside his, and when she rubbed against him he understood that she was being purposeful, though with the way she was hiding her face, he found the whole thing more embarrassing than sensual.

The broad daylight outside the unshaded windows meant that this was the clearest view of each other they had ever had before, and though he ended up above her once again, he would own that he felt intimidated, by the detail of her lashes and her collarbones, by the violence of her hair, and by the idea that she wanted physical reassurance. More than usual depended on pleasing her. He set to work. Whether he should consider it more a victory or a failing that in few minutes she climaxed, he was uncertain. She made a long, shrill kind of mewl that frightened him a little, though he did not stop, as she had instructed him before that it was not necessary unless she said so explicitly. When she stilled and sighed a few times, he pulled out to ensure the prevention of anything. She sat up before he could make another move, and took hold of his member with both hands. His lower body tensed up, but the rest of him was momentarily useless; she had not touched him there before and he felt he should melt to a puddle of either humiliation or satisfaction.

She ran her mouth over his neck, knowing his enjoyment by the familiar goosebumps that rose there. His hand came around hers and her lips stilled. He guided her movements, and though he made hardly a sound, she could follow the climb of his desperation as his hand twisted more sharply and the arm attached to it jerked tense. She felt on edge, excited, her breath hitched each time he pulled her arms toward him, he pulsed in her hands and a hot lump fell from her throat to her stomach. He inhaled as he fell over the edge, unaware of his aim and no longer feeling his legs bent up under him. All he knew were the coils of pleasure springing straight, and the two small hands.

When he opened his eyes he saw that he had spurted over her knees and thighs, and if this was not enough to rid him of all remaining composure, he saw her looking pleased, almost proud of herself. She reached to the floor for a random item of clothing and wiped herself off. Then she grabbed him by the arms and hauled him down with her, so that they were lying face to face on the pillows.

They stayed quiet, making glancing eye contact. Eventually he pulled the sheets over them. She reached to brush at his hair. When he leaned for a kiss she met him, and it was deep, stoking the fires in the caverns of their chests, warming them from the inside out.

 

The following day was another quiet one; though they were together for all of it, they were tentative. She was consistent, but subtle, in initiating touch, between their arms or their hips, or their knees under the breakfast table. They took turns following each other about the house. Whenever she was caught in this, or caught him, she gave a small, nervous smile. Given the length and the magnitude of their disagreement, it was necessary to wonder whether they were certainly well.

At dinner they were seated as close as possible, nearly elbow to elbow, and her leg pressed against his from knee to foot. But in the middle of the meal, she grew restless and unsatisfied and stood up. He did not know what was the matter, but reacted on instinct, hurriedly pushing his own chair back from the table. Before he could get up, she sat down on his leg and hugged his neck.

He was afraid, confused, then resigned, and they stayed that way, until his thoughts returned to the food cooling on their plates.

“We should finish our dinner,” he said.

She pulled her face away from where it was buried in his hair, smiling a little as she opened her mouth to be fed. His brows frowned, but his eyes were bewildered.

“You have your plate,” he sputtered, “This one belongs to me.”

Shoyo rolled her eyes and pulled her own plate to the end of the table. She stayed on his knee as they finished.

The second day was much the same, except that near the end of it, when she had bestowed another of her shy smiles, he finally returned it, with a wobbly, unpracticed one of his own. Her full, beautiful bloom appeared on her face, before she hid it against his shoulder, and now, they would be all right.

But since guilt and grief had only settled on Tobio recently, he had to make it a certainty, which required a gesture of some kind on his part, and a judgement of whether her reaction this time would be as wholehearted as the first time.

He came from town and brought the crate directly into the house. She was halfway down the stairs with Mochi in her arms, and upon seeing the box she bounded down the rest of the steps.

“What have you brought?” she sang.

He opened the crate and pulled out a tufty little cat with gray fur. She hardly had time to gasp, before the cat in her arms squirmed and leap from her hold, ran right for the intruder and swatted it in the head.

“Mochi!”

The new cat leapt away, arching its back threateningly, even as it shook with fright.

“Mochi, how could you!”

She was about to scoop him up, but Tobio’s voice stopped her.

“They will need to get acquainted. He was surprised, and acted on instinct, that is all. It is another male, so they will get along very shortly, I daresay.”

“Tobio,” she giggled then, “If you are going to bring a cat each time you make me angry, our house will be full of them!”

She came to his side and latched onto his arm as they watched the cats sniff each other.

“He is a darling,” she said.

“What will you name him?”

“Why, I never thought of having two cats, so I only ever had one name. You must name this one.”

“I do not know how.”

She laughed. “What can you mean by that, it is not some kind of difficult science. Only pick out a name.”

“You will not like what I choose. You will laugh at me.”

“I am already doing that, I cannot help it when you are so silly.”

He scowled. She observed the cats, as Mochi now loomed over the newcomer as it sniffed meekly at his paws.

“Mochi is a big boy,” she said, “But this one is such a chibi. Chibi! There, that will be his name!”

She looked to him for approval, and he nodded. She grinned, then hopped over and knelt beside the cats. She reassured Mochi with a pat, then picked up the young cat, which cowered against her, peeking out at Mochi, then Tobio. She cooed and rubbed her cheek over him, until he responded in kind. Within a minute she had it purring, and Tobio regretted, for his sake and even Mochi’s, what he had done.

“Where do you find all these animals, Tobio?” she said when she had set him down. “Know you a breeder?”

“I had little choice, this time,” he said. “He happened to be the only one the pound was holding.”

“You took him from the pound?” she cried. “Mochi too?”

“Yes,” was his cautious answer.

“You adopted them! Oh, what a kind, sweet husband I have!”

She threw her arms around his neck.

“You are their angel, my dear, they must love you with all their hearts.”

“Which is why they will always choose your lap,” he grumbled.

She released him.

“What a good boy you are, Tobio.”

He flushed, and her smile broadened. She grabbed his arm and pulled him up the stairs.

“Come, we will let them play. I do not expect you to be good _all_ the time.”

His face boiled red, but he had no thought of refusing.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sho goes to work with her man, and they bicker, and they cuddle, and she sees some sisters  
> And there is an appearance by a certain blond individual

Late one morning Shoyo was playing her instrument, and her husband sitting across the room with some papers and a book, when a servant entered there to hand the master a letter. Shoyo turned as he was taking it.

“Oh, who is it from?”

He made no answer as he opened it. In half a minute he rose from his chair.

“There has been a development in the situation of my client. I must be in town tomorrow at the latest.”

“Tomorrow? When you came back only two day ago? Must it be so?”

“Yes.”

He exited. She ran after him.

“Tobio!”

She burst into the hall and demanded:

“Why would you go so soon as now?”

“I may as well be arriving this evening.”

Her lips pouted out, and she looked away to the side and crossed her arms. He raised a brow.

“Such an attitude must be far from pleasing to me, your wife. You ought to cling to me until the last possible moment, until you really _must_ leave or be late.” She sent him a look meant to wither. “And this being called in so soon after your removal, I heartily disapprove of.”

“However, it cannot be helped,” he said. And he continued on his way.

She followed at his side, grumbling into his arm as they went down the stairs.

“If your client had any thought to spare for me, they might have waited at least two or three days more before changing their situation, but that is of no consequence. My sister Tadashi is in town even now, with Miss Nano and her cousins, so I will give you the address and you must call on her. She will spare you one dull evening out of two. But perhaps you will not have time for even small pleasantries…”

Tobio halted on the landing.

“You sister is there?”

“I told you so a week ago, when she arrived!”

“You might come with me,” he said, with a glance. She blinked softly.

“I should like, of all things, to not leave you behind for once. Then you might spend time with your sister. The trip is not long,” Tobio said, “I am certain it would be no trouble for you.”

She smiled. “Oh, I am certain it would not. But is such a thing proper? To carry your wife along to work, will it make you an oddity?”

“I am already an oddity. The common practice is to have one’s family settled in town. Others are going home to their wives all the time.”

She gasped. “Why, you said nothing of this to me before, or I would have come all the time! What an awful way to live, as if you had no one in the world, when you have a wife who is just as fond of you as any other wives can be of their own.” A grin split into her cheeks. “My poor dear Tobio, lonely for me!”

“There is still time to retract my invitation.”

“Nonsense. Miss Yaku will help me pack this minute. How long will we stay in town?”

He asked how long Tadashi would remain there, then suggested they stay two weeks, in order to round out her sister’s visit. After she had thrown herself at him and kissed both his cheeks, he added that his sister might be prevailed upon to come down for a few days.

“Do you mean it?” she shrieked.

His back hit the carpet and her elbows stabbed him under the ribs. She smiled, chin resting on his chest. He scowled, grabbed her and rolled them, thumping her into his old place and holding her down by the shoulders. Rather than learn her lesson, she giggled shyly at their immodest position, eyes teasing brightly at him. He clucked his tongue, blushing as he got to his feet. She flew past him and upstairs, calling for Miss Yaku. He gave credit to their servant when only twenty minutes later Shoyo’s bag was set in the carriage.

 

They arrived in good time for dinner. Shoyo could voice no criticism of the firm’s common house, and undoubtedly would have slept well if she were not so very eager to see her sister the next day. Tobio left early to meet with his client. Once she was settled in the house and had nothing more to busy herself about, she ordered a carriage and went to call on Tadashi and Nano.

She had sent no word to her sister; when Shoyo was ushered into the parlor where the five girls sat, Tadashi’s surprise was total, and joy beamed from every dear freckle that Shoyo adored. The younger could hardly gather herself enough to give a proper introduction of her sister, and Nano kindly took up the introduction of the three cousins herself. They were all astoundingly thin, black-haired, and no taller than Shoyo; she liked them immediately.

She was offered a place in their carriage for the day’s planned excursion, which she accepted after securing the promise that they would deliver her back in time for dinner with Tobio.

“Tadashi ought to be going in early too,” said a cousin, “For the evenings she is home have been rather lucky.”

Her sisters laughed, and Nano smiled behind her hand. Shoyo had not heard the remark, and Tadashi hurried her along to be sure it would stay that way.

 

Shoyo asked him after dinner whether he would have time the next afternoon to have tea with herself and the ladies. He said that he might make some time, and she gave her sweetest smile.

He met her at the home of Nano’s relatives, was introduced, and drank tea. The cousins were unusually quiet in his presence, and Nano was polite but of few words, so Shoyo and Tadashi were left to entertain him. Shoyo had answered many of her sister’s questions already (often without needing to be asked) and now encouraged his own answers with smiling silences. The cousins did not know exactly what to think of him, for he seemed stern and humorless, yet their friend Shoyo was married to him, so how could he be that and only that? Their questions were answered when one of her attempts to fluster him was turned back onto her; she pouted at the teasing, and his smirk of triumph softened into the fondest handsome smile in her direction that any of them had ever seen. As the two were talking before he would go, she held his hands, and he kissed one as he said ado. In half an hour’s time the cousins had fallen in love with Miss Tadashi’s family.

 

Nano’s party was set on having a dance for their newly arrived acquaintances. Shoyo took no convincing, and she had worked on him enough by the time Tadashi came to make the invitation, that the two girls had only to combine the power of one quiet, expectant look before he agreed to attend. It was not his first choice for a means of spending a day off work, but he would oblige her.

They found that a small town party was still significantly larger than a small country party, and only after a whirlwind of introductions were the Kageyamas allowed to pause and have a look around them. Shoyo had yet to speak to her sister, and she went off promptly to find her as the dance lines were being arranged. Tobio stepped off to the side, eyes blank as his mind occupied itself with thoughts of food. He especially disliked the kind of balls in which dancing was early and the meal came later; what had people like him to do but be cross while there was no food and they wanted nothing to do with dancing?

Tadashi inquired after her husband, and Shoyo looked across the room to where she had left him. Two other young men were standing along the same wall as Tobio, and the direction of their eyes caught her attention. They both smiled, and one raised his hand and talked behind it. Shoyo darted back through the clusters of people, marched past the two men, and looped her arm into his.

“Come this way. I cannot leave you alone for a minute,” she added under her breath. He followed along obliviously.

They spoke with Tadashi for a few minutes, before a cousin arrived with a partner she thought especially suitable for Miss Hinata. Once her sister had joined the dance, Shoyo looked up at Tobio.

“Will you dance?”

He had hastily avoided her eyes.

“I would rather not.”

She frowned. “But you agreed to—”

“I agreed to appear at the function of your sister’s friends, to nothing else.”

“Well then! I will dance with another.”

“Undoubtedly.”

She huffed, then turned and walked off toward the fray.

But halfway through her second dance she was already looking his way again, or rather, at those around him. Tobio _was_ being looked at, and as she continued to steal glances, he was talked to more than once. She was dancing with her sister when she spotted a young lady in his vicinity. At her next chance to look, she saw her husband give a shake of the head as he spoke, and the certain look on his face confirmed to her that he was flustered because he had been applied to.

“Shoyo,” said her sister, “You never were such a distracted dancer!”

“Will you step out with me?” she asked her, and Tadashi quickly slipped from her place. Shoyo walked around to him.

“Are you already tired?” he said. “Perhaps you have been too busy this week.”

“Tobio, I will insist upon you sharing a few dances with me, because I have done nothing for which I should lose my right.”

“I think it less a right and more a privilege, however.”

She swelled. “It is a privilege, maybe, while courting, but we are married and now it is a right! I am entitled to a fair share of dances with you.”

“You are enjoying yourself as it is,” he said, frowning. “I do not see any necessity for dragging me into the affair. You are permitted to continue your fun.”

“If you must have a _reason_ to dance with me,” she growled, “I have one to give. No one but our own party knows you as my husband because you have shown me no preference, and it is irritating my nerves to an uncomfortable degree to see people looking at you in a way they would not if their information was better. And if you are prevailed upon to dance with another before you have stood up with me, I will be positively angry.”

He blinked and was quiet for a long moment. Then his toothy smirk, the one she hated most, spread across his face, and she was about to tell him he was in actuality the last person on earth she wished to dance with. But he stood up.

“Come, then,” he said, offering his arm.

They joined the end of the line, and in only a turn were synced. She was all smiles now as his hand touched her elbow, her shoulder, her waist. He kept his eyes up much better than he had used to.

“Will you always be so difficult to secure as my partner?” she said eventually.

“This is a difference between us.”

“I do not intend to make too much trouble about it, if you will not either.”

“Here we are, at the moment there is no trouble.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “This is enough for now.”

Tadashi, at rest on the side, was addressed by Miss Nano’s aunt.

“Do you know that most handsome and harmonious couple, Miss Tadashi?”

She laughed. “The short half of that harmonious couple is my sister, lately married.”

“Indeed! They must have known each other some time. Were they childhood friends, perhaps?”

“Oh no, they met only two falls ago.”

“I could never have guessed it. They seem so known to each other. What a pleasure to watch!”

Shoyo was satisfied enough that she allowed for Tobio to order the carriage early, knowing he would then be satisfied too. In a short half an hour they were back at the house, and he was quick to change; she watched with a fond little smirk as he eased back into his home body. Then she changed and washed herself, and came to sit with him.

“Oh—” She fell back on the bed with a great sigh. “Tobio, the night went off so well, do you not think so? I confess that I had some reservations, never having been to a real public dance as a married woman. I feared I might miss the excitement of being eligible, and of talking with the other single ladies, but people were just as willing to speak to me in general, I think, and I am certain now that I like very much to have a husband. It is a relief to know these feelings.”

“It may have been a better thing for me, however,” he said, “If you _were_ resentful of the forfeit of excitements. Then I might be more often left at home, and not required to dance half my life away.”

She rolled onto her side to look at him.

“You cannot fool me, Mr. Kageyama, though you are a clever-speaking lawyer. If I left you at home you would be eaten up with jealousy for not being able to keep an eye on me. I know that we feel the same.”

She sprang up on her hands and leaned over him to declare:

“You would make yourself absolutely miserable about me. You would read too few books and drink too much wine.”

“I do not drink wine,” he said, turning his shoulder against her. She lay back down.

“I could drive you to it, if I had a mind to. I do not, however, so you are lucky.”

“You could not bear to leave me at home any more than I could bear to be left, so as such a situation is not likely to come about, this is needless conjecture. I want to go to sleep.”

“You will hold this evening against me forever, won’t you,” she said, turning away and pulling the covers up to her smile.

“Perhaps if I had gotten the admission in writing. That is not how one proceeds in a marriage, however.”

“Why, have you learned something in our time together? I am all amazement.”

“Go to sleep.”

She giggled.

 

In the second week of their stay, Shoyo and Tobio were treated with tickets to a piano recital, and in a very good box. Tadashi and Nano accompanied them, and Shoyo assumed the latter or her cousins had made the arrangements, until Nano herself set her to rights, and said that it was through a connection of her own sister’s that such tickets were procured. Shoyo could not ask her sister more, as Tobio was seated between the two of them, and the show was about to start.

The Kageyamas had never heard of the performer, but the others said that she was a very well-known name in town, and had even done tours abroad. Shoyo enjoyed the concert for being an outing with some of her dear friends, but would have liked to hear some more lively and inspiring songs amidst the longer, affected pieces. At the end of the performance, she was surprised all over again by her sister’s request for them to follow her, and by her leading them down a hall to the back of the stage, and into a tiny parlor-type room, where a tall blond woman was sitting alone. She rose and returned Tadashi’s greeting.

“This is my sister, and her husband, Kageyama Tobio.” She turned to Shoyo with a smile between her pink cheeks. “If you would be pleased to meet Miss Tsukishima Kei.”

She curtseyed. “How do you do?”

“I am rather tired at present, the concert being finished.”

“Oh yes, I found it rather long too, and such heavy pieces are hard to listen to all in a row in one evening. It puts one in the mood to go home.”

“Shoyo—”

She turned to her sister, who was looking mortified.

“Did you not enjoy the concert?”

“Of course, you know that I love concerts, and have few opportunities to see them. I only meant I have a preference for other kinds of music over what I heard in particular tonight.”

“I would not be surprised to meet a thoroughly ill-mannered woman,” said Miss Tsukishima, “For they are almost unbearably common in the world. But I would be surprised indeed to find such a woman was related to Miss Tadashi, and therefore I cannot attribute your slight to ill-breeding, but only to raging ignorance.”

Shoyo was shocked at such a coolly-delivered insult, and turned fast to look at her sister.

“Miss Kei,” Tadashi said, with a pained smile, “Is the pianist we had the pleasure of hearing this evening.”

Shoyo gasped, and turned the other way to look at her husband, whose blank surprise mirrored hers.

“Why, but you are a young lady!” Shoyo said. “To be so accomplished—I had thought—I was certain that the pianist was old, an elderly woman. Your hair looked very white under all the stage lights, did it not?”

“It did,” Tobio confirmed.

“I might have guessed, without being informed,” said Miss Tsukishima, “That you are not the clever one of Miss Tadashi’s two sisters.”

She gaped and looked again at Tadashi. When her sister only blushed and covered a little giggle behind her hand, Shoyo turned to her husband, telling him with her eyes that he ought to defend her.

“Your elder sister is cleverer,” he said with a shrug.

“Tobio—”

He turned to the pianist. “I wonder, if you had not been informed of our relationship to Miss Tadashi, how near to outright condescension and dismissal you would go in your speech.”

“No one need overwork their head on that account, for it is Miss Tadashi’s influence, and her influence only, which would ever put you in the way of speaking directly with me.”

Tobio was struck into dumb silence. Tadashi did her best to contain her laughter, as Nano stood back from the conflict, horrified and in awe at the same time. Shoyo went onto her tiptoes to whisper to him.

“Is she above us in blood?”

He scoffed. “How should I know, I knew nothing of her until ten minutes before the concert.”

“Shoyo,” said her sister, touching her shoulder. “I met Miss Tsukishima by a happy accident, while I was in town last fall. We have become rather well acquainted since then. She is my friend.”

“Oh.”

As Shoyo peered up at her in an entirely new light, it was Miss Kei’s turn to check a laugh.

“I am very glad my sister has formed new connections here in town,” said Shoyo, bowing her head. “You play very well, miss, with very precise execution.”

“Your sister has told me already that yours is a family little dedicated to the serious study of music, and that your taste has not been benefited by many master’s concerts you have admitted to yourself. That being said, I can hardly take your compliment to heart, though I will accept it as common civility.”

Shoyo’s mouth dropped open again, and she looked at her sister in wonder. Tadashi shrugged.

“You cannot deny that what she said is true, Shoyo. And I did not, would not, slight your playing for a kingdom.”

Miss Kei was looking down at Tobio now, for she was even taller than he.

“And have you anything to say, any commonplace opinion to soothe the wound so haphazardly inflicted by your wife?”

“Since our opinions and tastes are of such little benefit,” he replied, “I ought to be safest in having _no_ opinion of you.”

They glared back and forth.

“Just as you choose,” said she.

Shoyo did not know what her sister could have meant by introducing them to someone who obviously had no wish to form a connection, who seemed to dislike them without even knowing them, and she told Tobio so when they were alone at the house. He agreed wholeheartedly. Even so, she would not lay any fault to her sister, and here too he agreed. It was probably her sister only, he said, who could claim to be friends with so much loftiness and sarcasm. She thought it good of him to say so, and their opinions were satisfyingly alike in the matter.

 

Tobio had told her he would be late tonight, and he was, very. She was waiting in the front room, and when he came in she saw a scowl so deep it must have been pinching on itself all day long. He hardly glanced as he sat and took off his shoes.

“Why did you wait up?”

It was not said very kindly, but his wife smiled.

“I like to go to sleep with you here, is all.”

“You like everything to be your own idea,” he replied, passing her to go to the bedroom.

“Stop your grouchiness.”

And she smacked him soundly on the buttock. Tobio stopped and looked over his shoulder, glare icy cold. She only grinned and pushed him along.

“Of course you are tired and wanting more sleep than you will be able to get before tomorrow, and are sick of the sight of people and of their voices. Undress now, and wash your face, and then you will be in bed with me and there will be nothing left to complain of.”

“It may be hard for you, the fairy queen of laughter and sleep and bliss, to believe, but I will not wake to find all my problems have mended themselves.”

She scowled, and hugged him around the middle, patting his back. She released him.

“Go and wash up.”

He was too tired even for the effort required to grumble, so he did as told. He returned in his long johns and dropped into the bed beside her, settling on his stomach. Shoyo reached to the nightstand and took a cloth from a bowl, wringing out the hot water before placing it on the back of his neck. His eyes slid shut as the heat seeped into him.

“There.” She combed through his hair with her fingers, kissed him on the cheek, then combed some more. “Shall I put out the light?”

He grunted against his pillow. She got up and blew out the light by the door, then returned to the bed and blew out the candle on the nightstand. When she was beside him again, rubbing her hand over the small of his back, Tobio said:

“Thank you.”

She smiled. She patted him, then took her hand away, lying down so that their shoulders touched, and he fell asleep faster than he otherwise would have.

 

He was not late the next evening, but the lack of response to her greetings and inquiries made her cautious. She wore a small smile and did a dance around him as he hung up his coat and hat, then sat down to remove his shoes. She bent over, trying to see past his bangs, until he let out a sour huff, then a short growl. Shoyo decided to go fill a washing bowl for him. But before she could go she was grabbed around the waist. He hugged her, pressing his cheek against her back.

“A—T—Tobio?”

“I want to have my peace here, all evening.”

“Oh yes,” she said, voice straining a little high. “You are in need of it, I daresay.”

He released her then, but only to turn her around and hug her properly. He squeezed a blush into her cheeks; when she had grown comfortable, however, she wiggled her way back to smile cheekily in his face. Then she hugged him again, and he rested his chin on her shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Is that knocking?”

“Let them knock,” he said, and tightened his hold around her.

But she somehow escaped him, then returned to their room with a note. She opened it.

“Oh.”

She handed it to him. An invitation to dinner. Tobio got to his feet and handed it back. He moved away.

“We agreed to stay home, did we not.”

“But their efforts toward our entertainment are very thoughtful,” said she. “We ought not to offend them now, after they have put so many attentions toward us. It would have been a bitter waste of time in their eyes.”

“If they have so many attentions to spare, they might inflict them on more than just ourselves.”

She clucked her tongue. “Do not speak ill of them, they have been nothing but kind! I know that you are tired, and I am certain they will accept such an excuse most readily from my lips.”

She considered the note again; when she felt his eyes she looked up.

“You would be serious in your consideration of this engagement,” he said, “When you agreed not two minutes ago that we should enjoy our own comfort tonight?”

“They are only being attentive, Tobio, and I believe that one of us should acknowledge it!”

He pulled his vest off his arm and threw it toward the wardrobe.

“Must you be the lady’s standard for sociability in every place which affords you the opportunity? Is it wholly impossible for you to decline an invitation?”

“Is it impossible for you to consider other people when you are only feeling a little less than perfectly fine?”

“You will never convince me that there is something wrong with wanting to stay put for an evening when I am tired and sick of sharing your attentions with others.”

She raised her brows.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Is that the truth, then? If you had only said so directly, we needn’t have argued. I will stay with you, of course I will.”

He faced the wardrobe and stripped further in an irritated manner.

“I do not care to have you here when I know that you would rather be somewhere else.”

“Nonsense! Do not be so obstinate.”

“Go on to your party, and do not make a sound when you return.”

“Tobio.”

He dumped his pants onto the pile of clothing and stalked to the powder room in his underwear. She glared until he was out of sight, then took the card to the desk next door and wrote her reply, thanking but refusing them. She went to the front room to give it to the footman. When she came back, Tobio was sitting in the chair in the corner, a robe pulled over his britches and a heavy scowl aimed at the floor. Shoyo pushed the door shut and plopped into the chair next to it, and they continued in ill silence for a few minutes.

“You could have gone if you wanted.”

He did not speak with particular gentleness, but she could detect the difference of tone, and now she must do her part, and reach out too. She crossed the room to him.

“If you want me here,” she said, “This is where I want to be.”

She sat down on his knee and looked at him over her shoulder.

“Your word cannot mean much if you would continue to go back on it,” he grumbled.

She pouted with her cheeks, until he finally looked over at her. His legs spread enough that she could twist toward him, and he put his arm over her lap. She swayed closer, but not so close that he would be spared further effort.

His breath warmed over her neck; she touched his hand and he was encouraged, enough to nudge her with his nose, then press his cheek against her. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and lay her head on his. He felt her pulse, quick and sure.

He nuzzled under her chin. Shoyo turned, spreading her legs over his lap, and for a moment they were eye to eye, before she rubbed their cheeks together, tickling him with her lashes. His hand came to rest heavy on the back of her neck. She brushed his earlobe with the tip of her upturned nose, before he turned and pressed his face deep into her hair. She sank, the perfect weight against his chest; perhaps he wanted always to be breathing underneath her. She rubbed over him like a lion with its mate, leading with her nose, her cheek following, then her chin and jaw until their necks locked together. They were soft and quiet.

 

Shoyo, Tadashi, and Tobio waited for his sister in the shared parlor of the common house. Keiji came, in a blue gown and shawl that the girls gushed over right away. She hugged them all, and they sat down for tea.

“Your elder sister would stay home?”

“It is an unspoken rule, now that there are only two of us,” said Tadashi, “That we take turns in our time away. This time Koushi is the one to keep our parents company.”

“But I have felt quite guilty, I confess,” said Shoyo, “For having such a good time in town without her. She would have enjoyed so much.”

“I am sorry that she did not get to see any of you,” said her sister. “That is all she will mourn over.”

“I am near enough still that I might be the one to keep them company sometimes,” said Shoyo. “If you and Koushi would go together, I might come and see them. It would be as good a scheme for me, while Tobio is away.”

“Perhaps we might be obliged to you, in the future.”

“How did you leave your dear mother, Keiji?” Shoyo said then.

“She has had a difficult winter on the whole, and is slow to recover. Her spirit is well, however, and even improved by my coming to see you.”

“I am both sorry and glad.”

“I would like to meet her soon,” said Tadashi.

“I would like it too,” said Keiji. “I am keenly interested in sketching designs for all three of you. My greatest hope is to do a full collection in your inspiration.”

“Oh, Keiji, I would be delighted to see such a thing!”

“It would be beyond lovely, I daresay,” said Tadashi.

“She would do each of you the utmost credit,” said Tobio.

Keiji smirked. “I doubt there is anyone who could appreciate the gain of three new sisters more than I do. Drawing for a brother is terribly boring.”

The girls giggled at him.

“That is a rather unfair claim,” Tobio said, while there was least chance of being heard. “No one else can have gained three such sisters.”

His wife gasped, then grinned.

“Tobio, that was very charming!”

“You would flatter me,” Tadashi said with a soft smile.

“She means to say she has gained a wonderful brother,” said Shoyo, “And she would never wish to trade you.”

“Let Shoyo take those as her own words, but I can assure you my sentiment is similar to them.”

“My, we are quite the portrait of domestic felicity,” said Keiji.

“Not quite, for we are missing the cats.”

And Shoyo started in on the story of their rescue, and of all their adventures and antics, with interjections by her husband, which brought out a range of reactions in her for the sisters to observe. Amongst all her blushing and lip biting and the unconscious cocking of her head as he spoke and grew sweeter on her, the other two ladies came to an understanding, first on their own, then after a glance, sharing it together through a warm-eyed smile.

 

Kageyama would be in court today, his wife informed Keiji the next morning when they had breakfast together. He had left early in order to prepare.

“Have you seen many of his trials?” said Keiji.

“Hm? Oh no, never.” She frowned. “I did not know they were open to the public.”

“Indeed.”

“He never told me so himself. He has never invited me to go and watch, does that mean he would rather not have me see him?”

“I go to watch almost every time I am down,” said Keiji. “He has said he dislikes knowing that I am there, so I make careful seating choices, but he has never otherwise discouraged me.”

“Why, I am very interested in seeing him. Would you mind very much to take me there, Miss Keiji?”

“I would be perfectly willing.”

“And to show me where to sit? I do not want to be known to him, for as you said, he may get angry with me afterwards. He will do more talking, I daresay, than he does in five days at home.”

“He is not longwinded, by any means, but he speaks, and speaks well, and often the cases are interesting.”

She grinned. “This excites me!”

They kept their bonnets on, and Keiji led her up the stairs to the loft that circled the room, explaining that the view from here was a good one, and the lights prevented anyone on the floor from seeing too well. Not a minute after they had sat down, Tobio stood up in his blue coat. She grinned and her eyes lit up.

She heard the voice that he had used in the times when he was terrifically angry with her; it was no quite so loud, nor so wildly toned from excess of emotion, but it had the familiar press of authority and finality. Within the first few minutes she lost the thread of his words, more content to listen to the lull of them as she watched him walk about, turning to the judge, then to the jury, then in the direction of one of the clients, showing himself to her at every angle though he did not know it.

It was strange to see him so at ease in front of so many people, and such stern ones at that. His steps were direct and decided when he paced. The coat fit him as well as any could, not too loose but not restrictive of his movements. His head was always high, and his eyes were not always up, but were intensely blue and fearless. Yes, she thought, this was very good.

When he had sat down, and another man stood up to speak, she continued to watch Kageyama, silent and hard-eyed as he studied each of the other’s words, she imagined. His hands were folded and still on the tabletop, his shoulders high and firm. For a moment she could see him as a schoolboy and almost laughed.

The trial was not long, neither side speaking at any great length, and the jury being only a few minutes in deliberating. The verdict was read, and the woman to the right of Kageyama cried out in wordless joy. Shoyo started in her seat, and something spread immediately up through her, settling in her chest. The courtroom was already rustling with departures from the watching crowd, as the judge restated the verdict and closed the case. Kageyama’s client wrung his hand twice before she would allow him to step away from the table. Only now did Shoyo feel the touch on her arm; she got up and followed Keiji down the stairs and into the front hall of the building. In a few minutes he came into the same place, already out of the blue coat and into a black one.

“Tobio,” she called. He looked sharply. She grinned and ran a few steps to meet him. “You won!”

She hugged him around the arms. He looked at his sister, still lost in surprise. Shoyo let go.

“Will you be going to the firm now, or will you go back with us?”

“I—have a few things to do at my office.”

“We can drop you there, if you will come with us. Please do.”

“That will be fine,” he said, and she smiled and took his arm.

As they approached her, Keiji made a slight observation of her sister-in-law’s eyes and the positioning of her hand and arm against his; when they had come to the bottom of the steps outside, she said:

“I had forgotten, Shoyo, but I have an errand of my mother’s to attend to while the day is still young. If you will excuse me for an hour, I will take another carriage and direction, and join you again presently.”

“Oh. Yes, of course, I encourage your duty to your mother, I will not be offended.”

Tobio turned then to greet the driver, and in their one private moment, Keiji’s lip curled at her, and she winked.

Tobio called her twice before she turned to get into the cab. Once the coach started, Shoyo put her hand on his knee. He looked at it, then held her gaze, unabashedly suspicious. Eventually he raised his eyes back to his window.

She looked to her left, where the window was already shaded. Then she turned toward him and leaned across his body, reaching and pulling the other shade down. She leaned back, only until she could look him in the eyes. They narrowed at her.

“You have something you wish to discuss?”

“Do you?” she said.

“No.” He pulled his eyes away. “There is no matter I believe needs discussion.”

“Good. I know of none either.”

She put both hands on his neck and pulled him into a kiss. His lips puddled under the heat that had flooded hers so fast. Her fingers slipped up through the back of his fine hair, then threaded suddenly and gathered into her fist; he choked on a gasp and curled his hand over the edge of the seat. It reminded him where they were, and his brain scrambled to tell him to pull back. She felt his resistance and gave up a few inches of space between them. His eyes questioned wildly.

She smiled. “We have kissed in a carriage before.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and she covered it again with hers, quick and hot. She was a force, and only her hands kept his head from falling back. Tobio had to this point considered himself capable of holding out against her, but even in the face of an objection based soundly on decency, he found his sense the only party in opposition; his body, his instinct, and the part of his soul which was bound to her, all ordered him to do anything but resist. So he allowed hungry lips to map him, and eager hands to fist his shirt.

“Shoyo,” he said on the little breath she gave him.

“Hmm…”

She pressed her chest against his, clinging to the coat flap over his heart. It was strange to him that her body heat could be so dizzying, but such was its effect. The bottom of the carriage may have been the top, for he felt neither one. There were her hands, her hair tickling his forehead, and her tongue wetting both their lips before she kissed him again. A swoop rushed through him, and it reminded him that they were in a carriage and the ride may soon be over. Perhaps she read his thoughts, before running her hand one more time through his hair as she squeezed with her knees and raised herself higher for one more deep push. A wet sound squeaked between their lips as they slid together, and a groan threatened to roll through his chest, until she broke away.

She smiled into his neck, and said:

“You are very good at your work.”

Understanding dawned on him, and when she pulled back she giggled at his gaping mouth. She pushed his chin up to close it, then proceeded to fix him, smoothing the front of his shirt, refolding its collar, and straightening his coat. She ran her fingers through his hair, until it was all in perfect place and silkier than before. She gave him a large smile, then returned to a proper seat beside him.

They sat quietly for a minute. Then he turned to her.

“Was it the blue coat?”

She laughed.

 

On the whole, Tobio was pleased to have had her in town. But while there was a single question, a single puzzle yet to be solved, his mind was not content to rest. He did not fault her for being glad to see her sister. He had been equally glad for a sight of his, though their manner of expressing such feelings was markedly different. Neither did he mind her having tea with her sister’s friends, shopping with them, going to the theatre or a concert hall on occasion. It was her only too obvious enjoyment of the abundance of these schemes which gave him cause to worry.

There was no question that she loved the society afforded by town, and Tobio had always been weary on account of this love. She could be made restless and unhappy out in the country; that, he was certain, would not lead to any good, and his ideas about what she was likely to seek in the way of a remedy were rather dark ideas.

He had become progressively quieter as they went along the road, though he didn’t notice how his grunts and huffs dwindled away. Since these were the consistent responses Shoyo was accustomed to receiving, she had noticed. They were within sight of the house when she said:

“Tobio.”

He met with her scowl.

“I know just the view you have had of me throughout our trip, and I know exactly the line of thought which is irritating you now.”

He attempted to scowl harder than her. “Do you know me so well?”

“Yes, I do.”

They both glared.

“You imagine the difference in our desire for social engagements to be very great,” she said, “And when you take me back to the country you imagine I am feeling banished and deprived. Furthermore, your growing stubbornly quiet as we near the house is a confirmation of your belief that I find your nature to be uncompanionable and would rather you be something else, which makes you determined to be yourself to the most extreme degree, for you are defensive at the merest suspicion that anyone wishes to make an alteration to you.”

The light in his eyes flamed up, and he sat taller, looming over her.

“You of all people must wish for a great many of these alterations,” he said.

“I am wishing for only one, at the moment, that you would allow me to finish speaking!”

He did not retreat in position, but he closed his mouth firmly.

“I do not believe it is the business of anybody to make alterations excepting the person themselves. And for myself, your partner, it is far more important to adapt and accommodate to you, your flaws and strengths, for that is how we will manage to stay together. And now to my point. I am as content to go home as anyone can reasonably be, for I am as fond of home as anyone who has ever had one. And my home is with you, in the country, so with you and to the country is where I will always go. It is the lot we both chose when we married, and that is all I will ever have to say on the subject.” She crossed her arms as she turned to face the window. “You may brood and be suspicious of me as much as you choose, but you will be making yourself needlessly miserable.”

He had no answer to give to this. Luckily, they were home.

It was late enough that after she had fawned over the cats, they went upstairs and prepared for bed. When he came out of the powder room she was just crawling under the covers, and he saw her top half, completely bare.

“Tch.” He turned his eyes away. “Where is your nightgown?”

“Since I am at home, I do not have to wear it, if I do not want.”

She covered herself with the sheets, smirking when he looked her way.

“There is still snow on the ground,” he said.

“There is no snow in our bedroom.”

He rolled his eyes and went to his closet, pulling out a new pair of long johns.

“Do you have only blue and gray?”

He ignored her as he made quick work of shimmying them over his hips. He blew out the light, came to the bed and sat down, then started to put his arm into the sleeve. He felt her hand touch his elbow.

She kissed his shoulder, and pushed the sleeve back down his arm.

“Could you stay like this? For a little?”

He swallowed carefully, keeping his muscles still under her touch. She leaned past him and took the candle from his nightstand; she did not put it out, but set it on her own side, then pushed on his arm, wanting him to lie down. He complied, shuffling into his normal position though his underwear were still bunched at his torso. The moment his head touched the pillow, he felt her hands spread flat against his back.

“We are both perfectly warm, like this,” she said.

Her fingers pressed into him, pulling patterns through his muscles, following his natural planes. He stayed tense at first, the light and the touches making him unsure whether it was permissible to fall asleep. But in a few minutes it was almost beyond his control. Any anxiety or irritation that would keep him awake was brushed away by her hands, warm and worshipful.

Her weight shifted toward him, and made him just alert enough to hear her whisper.

“You like to be here with me. And I like to be here with you.”

 


End file.
